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THAT MAN’S DAUGHTER. 



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“THAT MAN’S DAUGHTER 


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BY 

HENRY M. ROSS. 





NEW YORK, CINCINNATI, CHICAGO! 

BBNZIGER BROTHERS, 

Printers to the Holy Apostolic See. 





1905. 


UBRARY of OONGHESS 
Two Copres t<ece»vtfu 

MAR iiO 1905 

SOByrunii entry 

/ 9 /^ 5 ' 
tJWiSS €L XXc. Noi 

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COPY 





Copyright, 1905, by Benziger Brothers. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

CHAPTER I. 

“ The Little Old Lady 7 

CHAPTER II. 

“ That Man’s Daughter ” 17 

CHAPTER III. 

Madama’s Story 27 

CHAPTER IV. 

With Flag of Truce 37 

CHAPTER V. 

The Day of Reckoning 48 

CHAPTER VI. 

The Way Out 57 

CHAPTER VII. 

What Marjorie Said 69 

CHAPTER VIII. 

What Marjorie Did 81 

CHAPTER IX. 

The One who was Silent 91 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

CHAPTER X. 

In Many Moods 102 

CHAPTER XL 

Her Husband’s Mother Ill 

CHAPTER XII. 

A Curious Situation 129 

CHAPTER XIII. 

In the Black Tower 141 

CHAPTER XIV. 

The Lesson He Learned 155 

CHAPTER XV. 

“ A Little World Well Lost ” 165 

CHAPTER XVI. 

The End of Her Mission 177 


“THAT MAN’S DAUGHTER.” 


CHAPTEE I. 

THE LITTLE OLD LADY/*' 

She was a little old lady, very quick in her movements — so 
quick that it was difficult to believe that she needed the gold- 
knobbed stick that rested beside her chair. And she was a pic- 
turesque little old lady, too — foreign in appearance, foreign by 
the very grace of her little old body, and the tine, dusky olive of 
her skin, unwrinkled by Time’s careless finger. Her large, flash- 
ing brown eyes were indicative of her Latin origin — they still 
held some of the fire of youth in their bright glance, and made 
one wonder as to what must have been their beauty in the strength 
and grace of her early years. An altogether charming, wonder- 
fully aristocratic, little old lady. She had an air,” as they call 
it. The plain black silk dress she wore was elegant of texture, 
and the fichu crossed upon her bosom was of real lace, yellow and 
softened with age. Her hair was white and wavy — in striking 
contrast to the olive of her complexion, through which, on the 
cheeks, the pink still shone. And the pride of her was in the 
curve of the head and throat, that rose, with noble grace, from 
her shoulders, despite the fact that those shoulders were stooping 
now with age, and her body lacked much of its youthful supple- 

7 


8 


THE LITTLE OLD LABY: 


ness- The rheumatism that had made her step halting had not 
touched the fine, ivory-like old hands and the pear-shaped nails. 

She was beating her fingers impatiently on the desk near her, 
and there was a frown on her face — a very black frown, indeed. 
More than passing annoyance brought that look to the usually 
placid countenance. ISTow and again she turned her head toward 
the door — and finally, as if altogether out of temper, reached for- 
ward and pressed a button on the wall near her. 

I am sure Mr. Chapin came in, Catalina,^^ she said, angrily, 
to the dark-faced old servant. Go at once and find out. I am 
positive I heard his step upstairs. Tell him I want him — this 
very moment.^^ 

The little old lady had the manner and the air of a princess. 
The obedient Catalina curtsied with unusual deference — if one 
knew Catalina^s attitude toward her real employer and her fellow- 
servants — and as she backed out through the doorway collided 
violently with the master of the house, just entering. Such a 
trivial occurrence as almost knocking the breath out of a stout 
man did not disturb Catalina in her lady^s presence. 

Here is Senor Chapin now, madama,^^ she said, with great 
composure, and vanished. 

Did you train her to back out that way ? asked Senor 
Chapin,^'^ shutting the door behind him. 

He was not a gentleman, this Senor Chapin ; that one 
could see immediately, and the little old lady often winced when 
she recognized the fact. He was neither tall nor short, nor dark, 
nor fadr; inclined to stoutness since he had turned his fiftieth 
milestone — otherwise nondescript, excepting his nose. It was 
a pronounced nose, and it made up, at least in size and general 
outlines, for the ambiguity of the rest of his features. 

My dear aunt ! he exclaimed now, warned by her silence 


THE LITTLE OLD LADY: 


that she was, indeed, greatly disturbed. What is the trouble ? 
You wanted me? 

The little old lady, bitterly impatient and fuming, turned her 
face away. A sudden change came into it — and it was a very 
haughty countenance, indeed, that met his gaze when he reached 
her chair, and stood looking at her, waiting. Morris Chapin had 
a wholesome share of respect for his aunt-in-law. She had blood 
— and blood and breeding were the two things that Morris Chapin 
had ever lacked. Heaven knew from what humble progenitor he 
sprang — ^he did not. But for the blood — even though it was 
foreign — that ran in the veins of this little old lady he had a pride 
amounting to absurdity. He was somewhat afraid of her, too. 
He knew not what unpleasant tidings she had to impart to him 
now. That they were both unpleasant and unusual he could tell, 
for he had never seen Aunt Mercedes so excited. 

What is it ? he asked, again. Then a new thought struck 
him. He looked about the room in search of some one. 

^^Wliere is Marjorie he asked. 

How do I know ? snapped Aunt Mercedes. Then she 
plunged into her subject. Mrs. Cordova has been calling on me.^^ 

^^Yes?^^ asked Mr. Chapin. He drew a chair close to the 
desk, and sat down near her. It could not be so unpleasant, then, 
this communication of hers. Enrique Cordova was his partner — 
not an agreeable man except when in Mr. Morris Chapin^s pres- 
ence. What could the flighty little Mrs. Cordova have to com- 
municate to Aunt Mercedes? 

A pretty tale she has been telling me,^^ went on the little 
old lady. A very pretty tale. I am glad to know flow my nepflew 
nrakes^^flis money. Even at tflis late day I am glad to discover 
wflose pocket pays for tfle support of flis daugflter and flimself, and 
keeps flis flouse and flis servants, and flis very flne appointments.^^ 


10 


TBE LITTLE OLD LADY: 


She spoke English with great fluency — ^but there was a little 
foreign note perceptible, especially in the last, hurriedly-uttered 
words. 

Morris Chapin stared at her. 

Oh, I know you^re not afflicted with much religion,^^ said 
Aunt Mercedes. I have made many excuses for you on that 
score. Did you know that Mrs. Enrique Cordova has been con- 
verted ? 

Converted ? To what ? 

^^To our faith, of course. What else? She has been to the 
Cathedral sermons.^^ 

Oh ! said Morris Chapin. 

Oh ! mimicked Aunt Mercedes. The remark of a heathen. 
Youhe a heathen, Morris. But you^re worse than that if the tale 
she has been telling me is true. Her conscience urged her to 
come with it to me — ^to see if I could persuade you and that hus- 
band of hers to enter into a more legitimate pursuit. Come now. 
What sort of a business is this you have on your hands ? 

Chapin & Cordova, bankers and brokers,^^ said Morris 
Chapin, and that you know well,^^ with a smile of pity for his 
aunt’s evident excitement. Then Humph ! ” he exclaimed. 

She’s got her conscience mighty late in life. She should have 
a conscience that would let her spend less, if what Cordova tells 
me is true. ISTothing she won’t have — ” 

^^And I tell you she has only realized the crime of it — ^the 
actual crime of it now,” said Aunt Mercedes, tartly. There’s 
something strange about that sputtering little partner of yours 
— and where he got his name — 

For Aunt Mercedes was Spanish by birth, even though thor- 
oughly American by training, and pride of country was still 
strong in her. 


*^THE LITTLE OLD LADYJ* 


11 


He^s a J ew/^ she went on, now. At least in his grasping 
habits. And I swear I believe you are a Jew, too.^^ 

Chapin shrugged his shoulders. 

Jews aren^t the worst in the world when one gets to know 
them,^^ he said. 

I do not intend to discuss Jews,^^ retorted the little old lady. 

YouVe an idea of my position here in Boston, Chapin. Think 
what this means to me if it ever becomes known. Mrs. Cordova 
says that the word brokerage in connection with the firm of 
Cordova & Chapin is stretched mightily. She says you are 
usurers, extortioners, cut-throats, really, who bleed the poor right 
and left. And that all this is conducted underhand. That you 
hold the notes of some men high in society — men I know. Con- 
sider, just consider what it means to me, Chapin — when it is dis- 
covered. I shall never be able to hold up my head again.^^ 

Why the deuce does Cordova let a woman meddle in his 
affairs ? said Chapin, angrily. Business is business — I hold 
more than notes, madam.^’ He was, indeed, much irritated when 
he could fling around on the little old lady in this fashion. It is 
not because I wish money that I do this. I hold more than their 
notes. I hold their honor. And if Cordova is a fool, I am 
not.^^ 

Ah ! said Aunt Mercedes. That’s for me, I suppose. 
But you’ll tell me the truth, nevertheless. I won’t be deceived. 
Is what she says true ? ” 

A gleam shot into his eyes. 

What if it is ? ” he asked, without looking at her. 

What — if — it — is ! ” The little old lady’s voice trembled. 
^^Wliat if it is! Take care. I am not in the habit of being 
spoken to so.” 

Indeed!” said Chapin. ^^Yeither are you in the habit of 


12 


THE LITTLE OLD LADY,' 


coming into my business life. When you do come into it^ you 
must expect harsh treatment. You keep to your line, and let me 
follow mine. Let — ^me — follow — ^mine ! His voice rose shrilly. 

For years I awaited this. You owe one person in this world 
a debt you can never hope to pay. There is one woman who has 
hated you from the day you took her place in her brother’s home. 
Is there not ? ” 

Aunt Mercedes grew white; her fingers shut together tightly. 

^^You mean — 

I, too, owe her a grudge. Do you remember the day she set 
the dogs on the man who had come to petition her brother for 
the rights for the holding below the Ford? I was the man. Hot 
your nephew then, Aunt Mercedes — nor, indeed, ever dreaming 
that the forlorn little Spanish child we — my father and my mother 
— ^had befriended, was any relative of yours. But I was the man. 
So I, too, owe her something. And for what you owe her, and 
for what I owe her, she shall pay — ” 

Go on,” said Aunt Mercedes. He leaned forward. His pale 
eyes were green with passion. 

I hold her son, Dean Armitage, in the hollow of my hand. I 
hold his bond. And he shall have rope — ^he shall have rope. My 
daughter shall be mistress of Armitage yet — mistress of Armitage, 
even as you were.” 

Fool ! ” said Aunt Mercedes. Oh, you fool ! ” 

He smiled. 

And worse — a villain,” she went on. I can fight my own 
battles. Desire for revenge is not among those things I wish on 
earth. I leave that to God — all of it. And you will give up this 
mad scheme. What insanity — Man, are you really crazy ? Give 
it up, I say.” She tottered to her feet, resting on her cane. 
^^Mine was the suffering; and I revenged myself — on him. Let 


THE LITTLE OLD LADY.' 


13 


her alone. There is a God; and she has a conscience. Let her 
alone.^^ 

When my daughter gives her house-room out of pity,^ he 

said. 

You madman ! cried Aunt Mercedes. To sacrifice that 
child ! It shall never be. I will prevent it.^^ 

^^You can not.^^ He looked at her steadily. ^^You can not 
prevent what has been the plan of these last twelve years of 
my life.^^ 

Looking at him^ she knew that he meant it. She knew that 
she had penetrated through the outward crust of deference, and 
arrived at the bedrock of obstinacy. She pointed to the door. 

Go” she said. Henceforth our ways lie differently.^^ 

His eyes met hers; his lips were still smiling. 

One would believe you meant it” he said. 

I mean it” she answered. Usurer, extortioner, leech ! 
Oh, you must be used to those titles, or you would wince under 
them. Perhaps it was as well that Stephanie Armitage set her 
dogs on you.^^ 

A dull red glow mantled his forehead. 

Do not you touch upon that subject,^^ he warned. There 
are some things I will not stand — ^though I would take much 
from you. As to my business — it is perfectly legitimate. The 
people who come to me know what they have to expect — 

And among these expectations there is not even the shadow 
of common decency,’^ said the little old lady. Many things 
have happened in my lifetime — ^but this is the worst of all. You 
were never much of an honor to the family. Still, I always 
thought you respectable.^’ 

Most people consider me respectable still.” 

^^With every bite you eat the fruit of dishonest practice? 


14 


THE LITTLE OLD LADY.' 


Nominally, you are a Catholic. A wonderful credit to the Church, 
Morris.^^ 

Look around,^^ said Morris Chapin. You would find it 
unpleasant to be reduced to waiting on yourself, to be deprived 
of this,^^ waving his hand at the room and its furnishings; of 
that,^^ indicating the dress she wore ; and the hundred little 
luxuries to which you have always been accustomed — ^through the 
kindness of providence/^ 

Kindness of providence — Ah, yes, it was that — 

You have had luxury all your days. And more. You had 
splendor. Had you been a little more careful in your thought- 
less youth, I might now be able to throw myself at your feet and 
promise to lead an idle life at your expense forever. I have told 
you more of my plans than I ever did before. Aunt Mercedes. 
Let the revenue come from whence it may, let me ask you to be 
content to have all that you desire. Ask no foolish questions. Be 
satisfied. I am not likely to over-reach my mark.^^ 

As you will,^^ said the little old lady. I leave your house 
to-day.^^ 

Oh ! said Chapin. And you go — where ? 

That need be none of your business. Your business is not 
in the line of honest purpose, and my purpose is honest. I will 
not owe my bread to such a man as you, Chapin.^^ 

You will leave the shelter of my roof ! said the man, and 
his face was white with rage, for she had angered him. And, 
after a while, become the city’s charge. Or some institution for 
the aged will take you in, perhaps. Let me assure you, good 
woman, that they will not hesitate to accept remuneration for 
your support from the despised nephew, the usurer, the extor- 
tioner, the leech ! ” 

Now Aunt Mercedes had ever been tyrannical of nature, her 


THE LITTLE OLD LADY: 


15 


tyranny begotten by the power of her beauty, and her wit, and 
her youth, and a cleverness of mind unusual in women, and by 
a certain commanding air of which she was herself inordinately 
proud. For the first time in her life she turned on her nephew 
with a face that showed him, suddenly, that he had gone too far. 
He had always had respect amounting to fear for her; she had 
domineered over him because it was her royal right to domineer 
over every one with whom she came in contact. In another instant, 
he knew that he would begin an apology, whether he wished to 
or no. 

But he did not apologize. 

For Aunt Mercedes had a bitter temper, and she had been 
goaded beyond endurance. She was old, too, and had not that 
control of her emotions which had served her well in younger 
days. She did not spare him. Her shrill voice filled the room, 
and penetrated beyond it, so that the servants, overhearing, told 
one another, and the cook, and the chambermaid, and the waitress 
crept up the back stairs to listen to the ^^tongue-thrashing the 
old lady was giving the master.^^ And stayed too — until Catalina, 
hobbling along, scattered them. 

In the midst of it a slight figure came running hurriedly down 
the stairs, and a young girl ran over to the closed door, throwing 
it open with violence. She stood on the threshold, gazing from 
the man^s white and angry face to the passion-convulsed one of 
the little old lady. Then she entered hastily. 

What is it, what is it ? she asked, frightened. What have 
you done to Aunt Mercedes, father ? She went to him, and 
put her hand on his arm. He shook it off quickly, and she 
shrank from him. Father ! What is the matter ? What is it ? 

I don’t know. Ask her,” was the uncivil reply. Shrieking 
old vixen ! ” he added. 


16 


THE LITTLE OLD LADY.' 


Oh, father! said Marjorie Chapin. 

She could not understand. She stood looking after him as 
he went toward the door — her eyes following him wistfully. The 
tears wet her lashes — hut he was too angry to notice, or to care. 
He banged the door behind him. Aunt Mercedes, breathless, 
shaken, fell into her chair. She could not thus allow her passion 
to get the better of her without feeling the evil effects thereof. 
She was too old. 

With a confiding childishness that seemed, by its very spon- 
taneity, to be habitual, the girl threw herself on the floor beside 
the little old lady. 

^^WonT you tell Marjorie what is the trouble?’’ she asked, 
in a sweet voice. Aunt Mercedes — dear Aunt Mercedes, what 
dreadful thing has happened ? ” 

Go — leave me ! ” said Aunt Mercedes. Leave me, leave 
me. You are of his breed — you will be like him. I will have 
none of you. Ho, no. Better death ! ” 

"^Aunt Mercedes — ” 

Go away from me, I tell you. But no. It is my place to rid 
you of my presence. The usurer and his child can dictate to 
Mercedes Estrada now ! Ah ! ” 

It was a hiss of passion, of concentrated anger and fury. She 
rose to her trembling knees and bent her trembling weight once 
more upon her cane. ^Marjorie, with a white face, watched her as 
she tottered to the door. She even called to her, tremulously, but 
the little old lady did not heed. And then the child, with a new 
and keoner sense of desolation than she had ever experienced 
surging through her, buried her face in the cushions of the chair 
and wept. 


THAT MAWS daughter: 


17 


CHAPTEK II. 

‘■"'that man's daughter/' 

She was not interrupted. And presently, after the first out- 
burst of grief had passed, she sat up straight and dried her eyes. 
The September sunlight, streaming through the window, fell on 
her sad little face. 

It was such a young face — its possessor a child still in the 
fullest sense of the word. There was a hint of gold in the fair 
brown hair drawn back so simply from the high, veined forehead ; 
the eyes were blue — a deep blue, large and full ; the mouth pretty, 
by reason of its childishness. 

Yet there was a hint, too, of strength in that young face — 
strength which might be brought to the surface in the course of 
time, and make her life happy or sorrowful. The shadow of 
sorrow was in it now — in the thoughtfulness that seemed to lurk 
in the big, serious eyes, and in the promise of intellect hidden 
behind that truly noble forehead. 

She got to her feet slowly — and, as she did so, caught sight 
of the tear-stains on her cheeks in the mirror opposite. 

I will go to my own room first," she said, and wait — a 
little while. Until my eyes are not so red, and until I feel that 
I can speak without crying." She felt the tears coming again — 
and the lump in her throat hurt her. Yes — I'll wait. Maybe 
she won't — she won't — Maybe — she won't be angry — ^then — " 

She dashed the tears from her lashes — quickly, as if ashamed 


18 


THAT MAWB daughter: 


of them, and then, with brown head bent, walked toward the 
door. With just as slow a step she made her way up the stairs. 
Her room was on the first fioor — a pretty little room, tricked 
out with all the girlish daintiness that is the right of a girl's 
first youth. 

Marjorie Chapin went to the dressing-table, and, drawing a 
chair to it, rested her elbows on its polished surface. 

You would not treat me so,^^ she said, a little sobbingly, her 
tones barely above a whisper. Mother, you would not treat 
me so. Oh, I need you ! I need you ! 

Once more the tears fiowed, this time unchecked. Drawing 
her arms together, so that they encircled the picture of the woman 
she addressed, she brought it close to her breast, and clasped the 
cold frame to her. 

I need you,^^ she said again, brokenly. My mother, I have 
no one. I have no one to go to now that even Aunt Mercedes has 
turned against me. Father is too full of business — ^there is no 
one — not one — 

She sat there, clasping that picture to her for a long, long 
time. The evening twilight stole into the room. It was a sad 
thing to see a child — for she was but a child in years — face to 
face with such bitterness and such sorrow — and such loneliness. 
Bitterness and sorrow are hard to bear. But not if there is a 
mother to put her tender hand upon our shoulder; to put her 
gentle cheek to ours; to whisper words of hope that bring us 
near to heaven. Then are sorrow and bitterness almost endur- 
able, since they lack the cruelest pang of all — loneliness. 

Therefore, was it a sad thing to see this child clasping her 
mother’s pictured face to her breast, alone in the twilight. 

Sighing a little at last, she rose, and replaced the frame 
where it belonged, brushing back her hair with a movement— 


THAT MAWS daughter: 


19 


slow and thoughtfiil — that seemed to be part of her. Determina- 
tion had come into her eyes. A sudden resolve took possession 
of her, and without waiting to consider it, she passed quickly 
out into the hall and ran up to the next floor, where her Aunt 
Mercedes had her own apartments — away from every one in the 
house. She knocked at the door — there was no reply, and turning 
the knob, she called out, in tones she tried to make light and airy : 

I am coming in. Aunt Mercedes.^^ 

No voice, either of invitation or of anger, greeted her. She 
looked about her timidly. No sign of the presence that usually 
filled these rooms — no smiling Catalina to wheel forward a chair 
for her. All was confusion. With a new fear, Marjorie stood 
quite still, her heart beginning to beat rapidly. 

Aunt Mercedes ! she said, huskily. Aunt Mercedes ! 

She tiptoed her way to the bedroom — ^to the little sitting-room 
beyond. All was dark, silent. 

Oh ! said Marjorie. Oh, no ! She can not have gone 
like that — she can not have been so cruel as to go like that — with- 
out a word ! She can not mean it. Father ! 

She had heard his step outside, and his voice. 

Father ! she called again, running hastily toward the 
door, and he waited for her. The light in the hall dazzled her 
after the dusk of the room, and she stood bewildered a moment. 

Father — Aunt Mercedes is not here — Aunt Mercedes is not in 
her room.^^ She was trembling. 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

^^Well, what of it?^^ 

Oh, father — ^where can she have gone to — where, where ? 
And how will she manage, all alone by herself, without any one 
to do anything for her, and without — 

^'Old Catalina is with her,^’ said the father, grufily. ^^Let 


20 


THAT MAWS DAUGHTER.' 


her go — I would not stop her. She’ll soon find out the difference 
between this and the hole she’s chosen — ” 

She will come back if I ask her to. Let me go to her and 
ask her, father, please, 'please! Aunt Mercedes never was cruel 
to me in all her life until to-day, and she will listen to me if — ” 
But you shall not go,” said the father roughly. She 
doesn’t deserve to have any one go near her. Let her alone, 
Marjorie. She said some mighty hard things to me.” He smiled 
grimly. I’d like to give the memory of them a chance to die 
down before I put eyes on her again. I’d take much from Aunt 
Mercedes — but I draw the line at having her bread and butter 
thrown at me as if it were poison.” 

But we can’t let her — ” 

We can do just that. We can let her alone. Don’t be silly. 
Eemember I do not wish you to meddle in this affair at all. It is 
between your aunt and me — and she and I must settle it. She is 
not one to brook interference. Heither am I. I won’t have it. 
Meanwhile,” he continued, in a kinder tone, as he noticed the 
trace of tears on her cheeks, and saw the quiver of her lip, mean- 
while we shall get ready for dinner — and if you’re a good girl 
I’ll take you to a theater afterward.” 

But the promise held no joy. Marjorie felt as if all her little 
world had suddenly been disturbed by an earthquake. What 
dreadful thing had happened that her father should be so bitter, 
so unfeeling toward one whom he had always held in highest 
respect ? What dreadful thing had made the stately and calm old 
lady, her second mother, look as if she were dying ? had made her 
repulse the child whom she had always treated so lovingly with 
such black words : You are of his breed — you will be like him — I 
will have no’ne of you.” 

One thing rather eased the worst of the conflict of surmise 


THAT MAWB daughter: 


21 


that tormented her. And that one thing was her father^s sen- 
tence, Old Catalina is with her.^^ For while old Catalina could 
lift a finger her madama would lack for nothing. 

The last and only earthly possession of the old lady was an 
obscure house in one of the obscurest of the back streets of Boston. 
It had come into her possession through an act of charity on her 
part — and though that had been years before, she had steadily 
refused to dispose of it in any way, saying that one never could 
tell — one never knew when one might need the shelter of four 
walls, and she would keep it. Keep it she did, in spite of ridicule 
and protestation. Often had she and Marjorie spoken of this old 
house — and Marjorie not being gifted, perhaps forfunatoly, with 
the keen business instinct of her father, sympathized with the 
feeling that animated this little old lady for the spot that was 
her ^‘^very own.^^ To this house, humble and poor as it was, 
Marjorie knew that Aunt Mercedes had gone now — and to this 
^ house, let the consequences be what they would, Marjorie would 
go also. She wouM find her aunt. She would learn all. She 
would settle matters. Surely, Aunt Mercedes loved her — She 
would not interfere between her and her father. But for love of 
Marjorie surely, surely Aunt Mercedes would listen to her, and 
come back, come home. She had no mother of her own, and Aunt 
Mercedes had been her mother. She would tell her that. Yes, 
she would tell her that— 

She felt greatly comforted at the thought, as she stood 
brushing her hair and braiding it. She even tied it with the red 
ribbon that Aunt Mercedes liked to see on it, and put on her white 
dress, though she had meant to save that white dress for the party 
that Elizabeth Wrangell was going to give the following week! She 
rather wished her father would not want her to go to a 
theater. Aunt Mercedes might not like to be left alone. 


22 


THAT BAVQHTER: 


Sallie tapped at the door just then. 

^^Your pa told me to tell you not to wait dinner for him. 
Miss Marjorie/^ she said. He^s been called away suddenly — 
but he’ll be back in an hour.” 

Aunt Mercedes ! Surely something was the matter with Aunt 
Mercedes — 

Where has he gone? ” she asked quickly. Tell me, did he 
mention where ? ” 

^^He came running back to say that much, miss — ^he seemed 
to be in a great hurry.” 

Very well,” said Marjorie. 

He had gone to Aunt Mercedes, of course. He could not do 
without her either. And he had not taken her ! That was cruel ! 

But she would go. What was to prevent her? She would 
follow her father, and they would bring Aunt Mercedes home 
together, and in triumph. 

'No regard now for the fresh white dress and the red ribbon 
that her aunt liked. She thrust on her hat an*d coat quickly, and 
in another moment she was flying along the broad street in the 
fast-gathering dusk, bent on one errand. Perhaps she could 
overtake her father if she hurried, was her thought, and her feet 
fairly flew. But she saw no one resembling Morris Chapin, and 
at the rate she was going she soon covered the distance that sep- 
arated her own fashionable residence from the remoter portion 
of the city in which, she was positive. Aunt Mercedes had taken 
refuge. 

Esplanade Eow, they called it, and at one time it was sup- 
posed to be very fashionable indeed. The elite of Boston’s higher 
world had inhabited it — ^but of late years the small, two-floored 
houses had been hired to those who could pay the very moderate 
rent demanded. It still smacked of the strict and sober dulness 


THAT MAWS BAVGHTER:* 


23 


that is supposed to be a characteristic of extreme respectability, 
and, in fact, even the present inhabitants of Esplanade Eow con- 
sidered themselves at least a little more favored than their fellows. 

The house that Marjorie sought was at the very extremity of 
the street; and as she neared it now its desolation rather startled 
her. For there was no sign of life visible. All was shrouded in 
darkness — and she stood looking up at it with eager, straining 
eyes. How could Aunt Mercedes come into this lonely place to 
live ? And what would she do for all the comforts and luxuries — 

But she would not stay. Her father must be there, surely — 
She, too, would gain admittance. So she seized the bell-knob 
and pulled it with all her might. The clang of it seemed, to 
Marjorie^s imagination, to ring through the old street. But no 
one inside responded. 

Again she rang it, and again, and still no one came. Some 
of the determination that was her aunFs chief characteristic filled 
this sixteen-year-old girl now. She set her teeth, and with 
firmly-closed lips, pulled at the gong, over and over — until its 
discordance seemed to put her nerves on the rack. Well, it 
would put Aunt Mercedes on the rack, too, she thought, if she 
were inside. She would not be able to stand that much longer. 

A harder and more vigorous pull than any that had preceded 
it was at last rewarded. Marjorie plainly heard steps inside — 
and to show the occupant that she must gain recognition at least, 
she pulled once more. The windows rattled. Some one was at 
the shutter, and Marjorie turned toward it expectantly. 

Go away,^^ said the harsh, rasping tones of old Catalina. 

Go away.^^ 

Catalina ! said Marjorie, with a glad note in her voice. 

Come ! It is I — Marjorie. Open the door that I may see Aunt 
Mercedes. Come — hurry.^^ 


24 


THAT MAW8 daughter: 


Go away/^ said Catalina, once more. It is madama^s 
orders.’^ 

But tell her Marjorie is here. Tell her that she must let 
me look at her, so that I may know she is not ill, or in want of 
anything. I have stolen from the house just to ask her — 

You will go away,^^ said Catalina. You will go away right 
now, madama says. Go away.^^ 

I shall stay until you tell her that I am here. And I shall 
ring this bell, too, until you do tell her.^^ She spoke quickly and 
in a sharp, high voice. I donT care whether Aunt Mercedes 
likes it or not — I mean to stay.^^ 

There was silence. Then Catalina^s wrinkled old face looked 
out. She put her finger to her lips. 

Wait,^^ she whispered. Come to-morrow. Maybe then. 
But not to-night. Wait.^^ 

Go away,^ she said aloud. Go away. It is madama^s 
orders.^^ 

With that she drew back, bringing the shutter to again, and 
leaving Marjorie alone on the stoop, with her hand on the huge 
bell-knob. 

She did not carry out her threat. Instead, her fingers dropped 
from it heavily. It Vv^as not chilly, but she seemed to shiver a 
little as she turned her face toward home. For the third time 
that day she had been unsuccessful — for the third time that day 
she had been thrust aside because people had bad tempers, and 
let their anger get the better of them. Marjorie brought her 
hands together quickly. 

I shall never do that,^^ she said. I shall never, never let 
myself get so angry that I will hurt any one as father and Aunt 
Mercedes have hurt me. I never shall.^^ 

She made a sharp turn at the corner here, and the words. 


THAT MAWS daughter: 


25 


which she had uttered aloud, died on her lips, for she collided 
violently with a young man and woman who were walking slowly 
along the side street. She drew back with a quick apology, and 
the light of the street lamp fell on her fair, childish face and 
big blue eyes. Wlien she had passed on the young woman stood 
trembling. 

^^Did you see who it was?^^ she asked. ^^Did you recognize 
her?’^ 

No,^^ he answered in a wondering tone. Marion, 

you are shaking. Who was it ? 

That man’s daughter. Morris Chapin’s — ^the daughter of 
that cruel, heartless, miserable man ! Oh, Dean, it is a bad omen. 
I do not like it that she has crossed our paths this night of all 
nights. Dean, I am afraid.” 

What nonsense, sweetheart ! ” he said, in a rollicking tone. 

To-night of all nights ! ^^Tiy, it is a good omen, little girl — 
a very, very good omen.” 

I wish I could take it so,” she said, troubled. Indeed, 
I wish I could. Dean. Ah, Dean, now that I have proven my faith 
in you so completely as to place all my future in your hands, you 
will not fail me ? ” 

Dear Marion,” he said, in a gentle voice, loving you as I 
do, how can I fail you ? ” 

hope I have not done wrong,” she said, still sorrowfully. 

But if you remember that unless you work for me I can not go 
to you — - You will give up this temptation, you will resist it for 
my sake, Dean ? ” 

I have promised you, sweetheart,” he said. 

^^It is our wedding-night — a night that should be sacred to 
both of us. I had thought my wedding would be a different one 
to this — ^but I am satisfied.” 


26 


THAT MAW8 HAVGHTEB: 


There was no one there to see. He put his arms about her 
and clasped her to him. 

You shall be satisfied — for as long as we two live/^ he said, 
passionately. For as long as we two live, Marion.'^^ 

She smiled gently. 

I trust so,^’ she replied. I trust so. After all, I am only 
doing what every loving woman does — giving my life and. my 
future into my husband^s hands.* But listen to me, dear. You 
know your failing. And, on my wedding-night, I want you to 
promise me something. Here, now, this very moment. I want 
you to swear it to me.’^ 

Yes,^’ he said. 

Cards are your bane — will be your ruin if you do not let 
them be. Swear to me that from this hour you will never touch 
a card again.^^ 

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the broad band 
of gold that gleamed on her finger. 

I promise you,^^ he said. I swear it, Marion. From this 
hour I give up cards f orever.^^ 

She smiled joyously. 

Oh, you have made me happy — ^you have made me very 
happy,^^ she said. Yow, I can rest secure. And we will work 
so hard — ^you and I together — for the future. Dean Armitage.^^ 

For our future,^^ he said, his voice full of the gaiety of hers. 
^ For our future,^^ she echoed. But not gaily this time. She 
remembered Marjorie Chapip, and shivered. Surely, on her wed- 
ding-night that man’s daughter — ^that man whose influence over 
Dean she dreaded — could bring her no good fortune. 


MABAMA^S STORY. 


27 


CHAPTEK III. 

MADAMA^'S STORY. 

Sallie, going downstairs to Cook^ shook her head dubiously. 

That poor child does look queer — such goings on in a 
respectable family is enough to kill a delicate little thing like her, 
I think. There she sits at that table, all alone, trying to put on 
a bold face, and her that white, and not touching so much as a 
morsel of chicken. It^s a shame, a downright shame. Her with 
no mother, neither.^^ 

Cook grunted sympathetically. All the servants, in fact, 
loved the gentle girl. But despite her gentleness, Marjorie had 
been too well-trained by Aunt Mercedes to give way to whatever 
emotions were filling her young heart now. As bravely as might 
be she took her place at the table alone and made pretense of 
eating her solitary dinner. But ever before her mental vision 
was the picture of that darkened house and its desolate surround- 
ings. She contrasted this bright room with the room in which 
Aunt Mercedes was probably eating at that moment, and she 
shivered. 

For the sensitive child dreaded she knew not what. There 
must be some potent reason for Aunt Mercedes^ desertion of her — 
And the sense of impending danger grew heavier with each pass- 
ing hour. Hever had she found loneliness so hard to bear. Yet 
she was used to comparative solitude. She did not depend upon 
her father for companionship. The smooth and oily man of 


28 


MABAMA^^ STORY. 


business had little in common with this girl^ indeed, who re- 
sembled her mother, both in looks and disposition. She gave 
him no trouble in any way, being unassertive and obedient — and 
this was due to her great-aunt’s influence, for Mercedes Estrada 
could never brook opposition. A prayerful, meek child,” she 
called her — and sometimes the domineering old lady rather dis- 
liked so much meekness and sweetness of temper as Marjorie 
displayed. 

To-night was, really, the flrst time in her life that the girl 
felt called upon to think out her own thoughts and formulate a 
line of action for herself. The effort and strangeness of doing so 
surprised her as she realized the necessity of it. The will of 
that haughty relative of hers had ever been her law — ^but to 
Marjorie now, the law was broken. She was determined to see 
her — to speak to her. She would not wait. Why should she? 
What there was to tell must be told to the' daughter of the man 
it concerned the most. Of what crime was her father guilty? 
And by what right did Aunt Mercedes condemn him? She, 
Marjorie Chapin, would find out. 

She rose from the table with a new light in her eyes. It was 
not yet eight o’clock. She would try once more to see Aunt 
Mercedes — and this time she luould succeed! What a simpleton 
she had been to let old Catalina send her away like that ! It was 
not late, at least not so very late. Yes ; she would go again. 

And, her resolution taken, she did not wait for anything to 
shake it. She would not wait her father’s return — for she knew 
he would forbid her to leave the house. Some stronger motive 
than any she had ever experienced in all her sheltered life prompted 
her now. Yes; she would seek Aunt Mercedes — and she would 
stand face to face with her, and ask her the question that trembled 
on her lips. 


MADAMA>^ STORY, 


29 


Mercedes Estrada sat upstairs in the room that she had se- 
lected for her own, and which Catalina had tried to make a little 
comfortable, at least. It was a poor substitute for the cozy 
apartments on Commonwealth Avenue, but the dark-eyed little 
old lady sat with head erect and haughty as ever in all her life. 
The lamp on the table gave wretched light*. The room was 
wretched. Badly furnished. The place seemed cold — for it had 
not been inhabited in years. Catalina, standing on a chair to 
nail a portiere over the door, paused in her task as her mistress 
spoke to her. 

It was Miss Marjorie ? And alone ? 

Alone? Yes, madama. All alone.'’^ 

What did you say to her ? 

I told her to go away.^^ 

And she — 

She would not go. She said she must look at you — so that 
she might know you were not ill or in want of anything. She 
had run all the way here — she was out of breath. And pale — 
so very pale — 

What did you say then, Catalina ? 

I told her to go away. It was madama’s orders.’^ 

^^Yes? You are a big old fool, Catalina.^’ 

Yes, madama. She would not go. She would ring the bell 
until you were compelled to let her in. She did not care for 
madama’s wishes — she would see her — she must see her — ” 

And then, Catalina ? Something eager trembled in the 
little old lady’s tones. But Catalina drove a nail home with 
vigor, and shook the folds of cheap, dark red drapery in silence. 

^^And then, Catalina?” There was a high, querulous note 
in the little old lady’s voice. 

I told her to go away. It was madama’s orders.” 


30 


MABAMA^B STORY. 


You are a fool, and your mother and grandmother were 
fools before you, Catalina/^ 

Yes, madama/^ 

Poor child ! said Aunt Mercedes. Poor little child ! All 
alone, too ! Shame on you to send that poor little child home to 
cry herself to sleep.^^ 

Yo answer from Catalina, who pounded away at the last nail, 
and then got down from the ladder and surveyed her work with 
satisfaction on her wrinkled face. Palace or hovel was the same 
to the old serving-woman, so long as Mercedes Estrada was her 
mistress. 

^^If she comes to-morrow — Listen! I thought I heard — 
Listen — 

Aunt Mercedes looked about her quickly. Catalina came over 
to her side, crossing herself. They heard the sound repeated, 
very distinctly — a sharp tapping. 

It is a spirit, mayhe,^^ said old Catalina. And she shivered. 

So are you,^^ said Aunt Mercedes, in contempt. Hark, 
there it is again — it is at the window. Mother of God, what is 
that ? 

She clasped Catalina^s arm with fingers to which alarm gave 
unusual strength. Catalina began to moan and utter frightened 
exclamations in Spanish. 

It is a face at the pane — It is a child — it is — Open, 
open ! Catalina, it is Marjorie ! Marjorie ! cried the little old 
lady, and her voice trembled. Oh, you wicked child, to do such 
a thing ! 

For the gleam of light in the window had given the girl a 
clew. She was not to be denied entrance a second time, and had 
trusted her weight to the stout old vine that ran along the front 
of the house from cellar to eaves. It was a daring thing — she had 


MADAMA^^ STORY. 


31 


not thought of its danger^ not once. She perched herself on the 
sill, and, looking in, saw her great-aunt and the old servant 
close to her. She was satisfied then. 

My child, my child ! said Aunt Mercedes, tenderly, as she 
held out her hand to help her into the room. Dear child, why 
did you do such an awful thing? It was wicked, Marjorie.^^ 

But the Marjorie who looked at her now with those steady 
blue eyes was a new character, indeed. She had learned one 
lesson this last few hours — the lesson of resoluteness. 

What is a usurer, Aunt Mercedes ? she asked. And why 
is my father one ? 

That was all. That was -the fruit of her determination — just 
that question. Aunt Mercedes turned her face away, as if she 
would evade it. But Marjorie Chapin would not let her. 

There is some great reason for your leaving our house,^^ she 
said. Some reason neither you nor father think I can under- 
stand. But I will teach myself to understand it. That is all. 
How, what is a usurer? And why is my father one?^^ 

Did you ask your father ? said Aunt Mercedes, sharply. 

I shall ask him — after you tell me,’^ said Marjorie Chapin. 

Then you did not come here because you loved me,^^ said the 
little old lady. You came merely to satisfy your idle curiosity. 

Oh, Aunt Mercedes ! said Marjorie, and her voice trembled. 

Oh, you know — How could you leave me — me — without a 
single word? Oh, how could you do it? And when I went to 
look for you — And you werenT there, you werenT there ! 
She wrung her hands together. I could not do anything to 
hurt you so,^^ she finished, sobbingly. I could not do anything 
like that.^’ 

Marjorie — ^my little baby ! said Aunt Mercedes, and she 
held ont her arms, and Marjorie ran to them, putting her head 


32 


MABAMA'B STORY. 


upon her bosom and crying violently. For the poor little heart 
had been sorely wounded and thrust back upon itself. Here, 
where she had always found comfort when she needed it, she would 
sob out the pain and childish grief of that long afternoon. Tears 
were in Aunt Mercedes^ own eyes as she soothed her. 

^^How will you tell me?^^ said Marjorie, at last. And 
when will you come home again, dear aunt ? To-morrow ? 

'No/^ said Aunt Mercedes. I shall not go back any more.^^ 
Her look was grim indeed. Your father defied me to-day — 
and I shall not return. Beware of ambition, Marjorie. There is 
no worse thing in all this world — no worse thing.^^ 

Marjorie did not answer. 

have had a strange life, dear child — and I will tell you 
just a little of it. Sit here, beside me. It will not keep you very 
long. But first, dear, do not be hurt because I left without seeing 
you. I could not trust myself.^^ 

With her large, grave eyes on her aunFs face, the girl seated 
herself as she was bidden. 

Though in America all are equal,^^ went on the little old 
lady, proudly, there are memories dearer than equality. The 
Estradas are noble — very noble, and did the last of the Estradas 
seek her own^ there are many who would welcome and honor her. 
There were not here, in America, any of those old traditions which 
make one think, when one is of noble blood, and which make one 
proud — ^but there is freshness here and young life — and there was 
love, too, for Mercedes Estrada.^^ 

She hesitated, patting Mar j oriels hand. 

I married very finely, as they call it in this country, 
and I went with my husband to his home. His sister was 
there before me — and she had no liking for her brother’s wife. 
While I—” 


MABAMA^S STORY. 


33 


She shrugged her shoulders and laughed, and there was an 
unpleasant ring to that laugh. 

I hated her/^ said Aunt Mercedes. I am an old woman 
now — maybe, I should have been more careful — but then I was 
young."^^ She paused. ^‘ISTo,^^ she said, thoughtfully. could 
not have won her liking even then. 'No matter what I might 
have been, she would have hated me just the same.^^ She shook 
her head. Well, well. I made it all roses for her for a while — 
she must surely have loved me for those roses,^^ and she chuckled 
under her breath. 

She was married, too — and she did not want to think that I 
would have any children to inherit her brother’s property. I had 
no children. She was a wicked woman — she poisoned my hus- 
band’s mind. She told him many things — many things that were 
black and false and bitter as her own black and false and bitter 
heart ! ” 

The little old lady shook as with a chill — so keen was the 
memory even at this day. 

But Marjorie did not stir. 

We had a wonderful dance one night, and Mercedes Estrada 
was not among the least of those who shone at it. Great people 
were there — people whose names are high in this new land. And 
I — oh, I enjoyed myself — I was queen — I, an Estrada, was the 
most beautiful and the most sought after. And there was one 
sweet girl among them all whom I delighted in knowing. Her 
lover came to me, I remember. He is a Senator now, and he mar- 
ried her long years ago, and she is dead, too, many years, without 
knowing why sorrow came upon me. Her lover begged of me to 
speak to her for him, since they were estranged. She would not 
look at him. I promised, for he was a good man, indeed — and 
she was just as good a woman. We said much to each other, la 


34 


MADAMA^B STORY. 


parting he kissed my hand. That pleased me. It was foreign. 
It was conrteons.^^ 

Aunt Mercedes paused. Her brow grew dark. 

“ She was watching — my good sister-in-law. She was watch- 
ing me. And afterward — ^that very night — she accused me to my 
husband. And he believed her — oh, he believed her. And he 
struck me. He was mad.’^ 

Oh, Aunt Mercedes ! said Marjorie, for the pain of the past 
was in the little old lady’s trembling tones. Aunt Mercedes, 
what did you do ? ” 

Though he fell at my feet — yes, crawled before me the rest 
of his life, I would not forgive him. It is well I did not kill him. 
I went away.” 

Away — ” 

Left him. That is many years ago. I was too hasty. I 
have seen it since — I was not calm in my youth, Marjorie — ^hot- 
headed and impulsive, and I locked myself away from every one 
— from man and woman, from God, even. I would have nothing 
to do with life. I was like one dead. My heart was dead, my 
youth withered, my soul blasted.” « 

There was silence. 

I had had a brother who was married in this country and 
whom I had lost track of. When I heard of him — long afterward 
— it was through your father, who had married my niece. The 
Chapins had taken her in at my brother’s death, and she had been 
living not far away from me during all the too few years of my 
wedded life. I did not know it — ^not until it was too late.” 

Your husband — ” 

He came — ^he found me, of course.” Aunt Mercedes paused. 
^^I am sorry I was so cruel to him. Hut I was bitter. I could 
not reason with myself then. He is dead now, but his sister lives. 


MADAMA^S STORY. 


35 


And to show you that I am not so hard of heart, let me tell you 
that she is in my place — my place in the home that should have 
been mine by right — Ah, well ! She did me a great wrong, 
Marjorie/^ She went on in a changed voice. A very, very 
great wrong — for I loved my husband dearly, and was true to 
him. Anything else I might have forgiven — but I was so proud, 
dear child, so very proud. I could not stay i;here after that. 
No, no. It took me ten years to fight it out by myself — ten years 
of loneliness. No one saw me during all that time but Catalina. 
She, the ever-faithful, who is with me now and will be with me 
to the end.^^ 

Words trembled on Marj oriels tongue. Her aunt kissed her. 

Your father, you would ask? He brought up the past to me 
to-day, dear. You need not hear that. He went too far. Some 
time I shall tell you — ^tell you all. But to-night I can say no 
more, no more. I am tired.^’ 

She looked tired, indeed — and Marjorie realized it with com- 
punction — even though that unanswered question still rang 
through her brain, tormenting her. She put her arms tenderly 
about her aunt^s neck and kissed her. 

Ah, you are worn out — and I am selfish to be making you 
talk so to me,^^ she said. I will come to-morrow — please. Aunt 
Mercedes ? 

When and as often as you will,^^ said her aunt. Only do 
not ask me things which I will not answer — yet. Some day, be- 
fore I leave you, I shall tell you everything. There is more of 
this story — and of how your father came into my life, and of the 
reason I have put him out of it now. Marjorie, you were always 
obedient, always good to me, and loving. If I tell you that you 
will spare me much pain by not questioning me until I am ready 
to give you the whole story — what will you say ? 


36 


MADAMA^B STORY. 


Marjorie’s answer was characteristic of her simple nature. 

I would seal my lips for all the future if I could spare you 
anything, i^unt Mercedes/’ she said. I love you — and I would 
not hurt you. You know I would not hurt you.” 

Ten minutes later she was speeding back to her own home 
along the silent streets. And although her desire to know had 
not been satisfied, her heart was light. 


WITH FLAG OF TRUCE, 


37 


CHAPTEE IV. 

WITH FLAG OF TRUCE. 

To say that this open rupture with the woman whom, in lay- 
ing claim to the social consideration he craved, he had always 
considered his greatest support, was not worrying Morris Chapin 
would be to assert an untruth. He had hardly believed it pos- 
sible in the beginning. He had scarcely believed it when Mar j oriels 
wobegone face assured him of the words she said — that her aunt 
had indeed stood not upon the order of going, but had gone. He 
would not believe his own senses when day after day passed and 
the little old lady cam.e neither to sue for peace nor to renew 
hostilities with peace in view. 

He had not much mercy or consideration in his heart, this 
man whose god was money. So wrapped up in his schemes to 
secure it that he no longer knew the meaning of that term 
tempering justice with kindness.^^ Unfortunately for himself, 
he was not even just; his conscience was not tender. He con- 
sidered his business ends and aims perfectly legitimate, and re- 
sented Mercedes Estrada’s strictures as entirely uncalled for — 
the giving of opinions in matters of which she was totally ignorant. 

Morris Chapin’s religion had never been his strong point. 
When quite a young boy, he had exhibited a closeness of fist where 
money was concerned ; a shrewdness at driving a bargain ; a grasp- 
ing nature which was not admirable then, and hade fair not to 
make an admirable future. What he had been in youth, he was 
to-da}" — close, grasping, shrewd, cold-hearted. 


38 


WITH FLAG OF TRUCE, 


The dainty woman he had married was not of his kind — save 
that God, who destines each one of ns for a certain lot, brought 
her across his path. Education showed Morris Chapin the things 
he lacked — and one of these was social position, and the other 
breeding. The daughter of Miguel Estrada, motherless, father- 
less, alone in the world, came into the Chapin family, and had 
upon it the same effect that a ray of sunlight has on a darkened 
room. They did not resent her superiority — rather, they helped 
her to maintain it by adulation. The parents had been verj 
humble people always, and they bowed to this young daughter of 
a well-born race with deference, proud, indeed, to do her service. 
They were kindly, withal, and there was little sympathy some- 
times between their wise son and their more unsophisticated selves. 
That Morris and Beatrice would eventually wed the parents had^ 
no thought. 

It happened so. For once, Morris Chapin laid aside his con- 
siderate regard for the almighty dollar, and, imbued with some of 
that feeling which his father and mother held for the little 
stranger who had come under their protection, he asked her to 
marry him. Marriage, with Beatrice Estrada, alone, kinless^ 
penniless, was but the shadow of a cloud across the sun ; the song 
of a bird in the tree-top; the perfumed breath of a flower. As 
lightly as she enjoyed the beauty of these things without serious 
thought of the mysteries they contained, so lightly did she laugh 
and give this man her promise. 

And let his faults be what they would, one thing Morris 
Chapin ever had been — his wife’s best friend. She had honored 
him, indeed, and he had honored her in return, ^ome years after- 
ward, when she found that her Aunt Mercedes was alive, and 
when that haughty woman, with a pride no hardships ever could 
subdue, inquired why she had married so unrefined and uncouth 


WITH FLAG OF TRUCE. 


39 


a man, a man so altogether beneath her, she laughed that light 
laugh of hers : 

Unrefined and uncouth he may be — but he spends himself 
that I may have no care/^ 

You never loved him/^ asserted Aunt Mercedes. 

Better than any other man I know.^^ 

That is not love — ^that is because you have not had the 
chance to become acquainted with other men.^^ 

Nor do I want the chance. Other men could never be kinder 
or more patient. And I respect him. He is good to me, and I 
am satisfied.^^ 

Aunt Mercedes grunted. She discovered afterward that it 
was her niece^s way to be satisfied with everything. She marveled 
often at the placid contentment of her nature. Even when she 
came to die, she smiled a little sadly that she must leave her 
prattling baby girl. But she had no regret. She was simply 
satisfied. 

After her death Aunt Mercedes took up the government of 
the household. It was a comfortable household by this time, 
and Morris Chapin, seeing with clear eyes the prestige attached 
to this splendid old lady^s name, let her do just as she willed. He 
was invited to houses whose doors, without her, he could never 
hope to darken. People did not like him — ^but connection with 
Mercedes Estrada was open sesame — and he was her nephew. 

So it happened that he saw grave complications staring him 
in the face as he sat at the breakfast-table this morning, handling 
a courteous note from one Mrs. Bannister-Loring inviting him 
and Miss Marjorie to an informal ^^at home^^ that very week. 
Marjorie was not yet out,^^ true; but her two daughters, of 
Marjorie’s age, were to he present also, and she would like to have 
the girl. A similar invitation, presumably, had come for Aunt 


40 


WITH FLAG OF TRUCE, 


Mercedes, for another envelope, inscribed in the same flowing 
hand, lay beside his plate. 

Kow what would he do? If there was one single thing he 
wished to keep from the world at large, it was news of any trouble 
with his relative. He pondered a long time over this note. At 
last he spoke to Marjorie. 

Will you see your Aunt Mercedes to-day? 

She did not know how to answer him. Since that night they 
had never conversed on this topic — it was tabooed yet Mar- 
jorie did not seek to conceal her visits — and she seemed to under- 
stand, from his manner, that he gave a tacit consent to them. 
How that he broached the subject, she stammered a little before 
she answered, confused: 

Yes, sir. I shall see her this afternoon.^^ 

Very well, then. Take that note to her — and show her this 
one. You can tell me what she says.’^ 

Marjorie did as she was bidden. When they were at supper 
that evening, he asked abruptly: 

^^What about that invitation? You saw your aunt?^^ 

Yes. But she said nothing, replied Marjorie. She simply 
read your note, gave it back to me, and then put her own on the 
table. She did not open it while I was there. I wish you would 
go to her, father, she burst out, impulsively. I can not bear 
to have Aunt Mercedes away like this. It is so lonely and so 
uncomfortable — and — and people are beginning to ask ques- 
tions.^^ 

^^Well?^^ 

nothing — only I don’t want to tell fibs, father. And it is 
very hard to try to get out of answering.” 

One thing,” said Morris Chapin. Just one thing. I don’t 
care how you get out of it, or what stories you make up, so long 


WITH FLAG OF TRUCE, 


41 


as you do not give the real reason. I do not want you to mention 
that Aunt Mercedes and I have quarreled,^^ 

But you know, father — 

I know what ? You don^t mean to say that you have — 

No — but every one heard it. All the servants. Quarrels 
often occur like that. Now if you were to go to her and bring her 
back here I am sure everything would straighten out.^^ 

Chapin looked at his daughter keenly. Aunt Mercedes had 
probably bade her convey this message to him. .Well, he might 
just as well go. Probably the old lady would not be so high 
and haughty now that she had tasted food at privation^s 
board. 

All right,^^ he said. All right. You tell her that Pll go 
after her to-morrow.'’^ 

Delight unbounded sprang across Marjorie’s mobile face. 

Oh, will you, father ? That will be grand ! You don’t know 
how glad I shall be to have Aunt Mercedes home again ! ” 

She put her arms about his neck quickly and kissed him, and 
he went on his way, satisfied that things would disentangle them- 
selves to please him. It was just as well it had happened. The 
little old lady was taught a lesson that would not have to be re- 
peated. What was seeming concession on his part was actually 
nothing short of magnanimity. So did he pat himself on the 
back, and all day long this solution of the difficulty had power to 
please him. Until he saw Marjorie again. 

What is the matter, now ? ” he asked, looking at the down- 
cast face and red eyes. 

^^Aunt Mercedes says you need not go — she will never come 
back again.” 

She is crazy,” said Morris Chapin, in disgust. You see 
her every day — ^what is the matter with her ? ” 


42 


WITH FLAG OF TRUCE, 


N'othing, father. But I don’t think she will ever come home. 
She has sent you this letter.” 

And it was a vigorous note, couched in no uncertain terms. 

Your anxiety to have me return to the bosom of your family 
is, I have no doubt, due to Mrs. Bannister-Loring at the present 
time. For Marjorie’s sake I am willing to do more than you de- 
serve. Send the carriage for me next Tuesday afternoon, and I 
shall accompany Marjorie to my friend’s house. This on one con- 
dition — that you do not inflict your presence on me, and that if 
you really feel that the Bannister-Lorings can not get along with- 
out you, you will not come near or speak to me while I am there. 
That is all.” 

There was neither opening salutation nor close to it — simply 
the scribbled lines. Morris Chapin tore it up savagely. 

You can tell her from me that she can stay where she is until 
she petrifies,” he said, angrily. She is a stubborn, cranky old 
woman with no more sense in her head than a child two years old.” 

I am very sure of one thing,” said Marjorie to herself that 
night. ^^Very sure. I shall never lose my temper. It makes 
people too unhappy. This stubbornness isn’t doing either father 
or Aunt Mercedes one bit of good — and my prayers don’t seem 
to have any effect, either.” She sighed in her childish manner. 
^^ISTo. Losing one’s temper makes other people miserable — ^there- 
fore I shall keep mine always. . . . Keep mine. . . . 

Why^ I don’t believe I have a temper, honestly. I am never, never, 
never angry. I think mamma was like that. It would be too 
much trouble to quarrel.” 

She sat swinging her feet on the side of the bed — meditating 
aloud, as was her quiet way when alone. 


WITH FLAa OF TRUCE, 


43 


^^Yes. I had rather give in than quarrel. I wonder what 
could make me angry? It must be nice to get angry and cross 
and have people afraid of you. Just imagine — no one is ever 
afraid of me — I think no one could be afraid of me, not even a 
kitten.^^ 

Which was perfectly true. She was such a quiet, unassertive 
little soul, passing in and out without making her presence known 
to any one, that it scarcely mattered whether she were in the room 
or out of it, for all the interest she excited. And it was just as 
well. In the comparative solitude she knew, her heart and soul 
were forming. She was making her own character. But she did 
not realize that yet. Later she would discover it. So would others. 

Morris Chapin reconsidered his determination — and Aunt 
Mercedes went to Mrs. Bannister-Loring^s in the Chapin carriage, 
with Marjorie. Mrs. Loring was well enough acquainted with 
Aunt Mercedes to hear part of the story. 

It is just as well,^^ she said, now, when Aunt Mercedes had 
told her, in a few short, biting sentences, that her nephew and 
she had disagreed. It is just as well. After all, Mercedes, you 
know that the Chapins, as a class, are impossible, judging by this 
head of the house. That man — 

She shrugged her shoulders. Then her face lighted up to 
sudden enthusiasm. Perhaps she did not want to continue the 
subject longer for fear of hurting Aunt Mercedes. 

Ah, Warren ! My dear Warren, come here this instant. Miss 
Estrada, permit me to present Mr. Armitage? One of my favor- 
ites.^^ She rose and motioned him to the seat she vacated. I 
must leave you for a second until I see how the children are be- 
having.^^ 

She went off, smiling. Warren Armitage sat down beside the 
handsome little old lady in black. 


44 


WITH FLAG OF TRUCE, 


^^Did I catch the name rightly he said. ^^It had a very 
familiar sound — Estrada. It is a name I should remember. 

How old are you ? asked Aunt Mercedes, grimly. 

About twenty-five.^^ 

^^Then you are old enough to forget unpleasant things — even 
names/^ she said^ with significance. I do not think mine is 
familiar to you. You have made a slight mistake.^^ 

As you will/^ he said, bowing gravely. That is as you will, 
of course, always.^^ 

Now Aunt Mercedes liked that answer — and the tone he used 
in making it. She glanced at him once more, with sudden interest 
for his handsome dark face and the gravity of his eyes. He had a 
very resolute countenance — with a thoughtfulness that was almost 
sadness in the steady mouth — and a dogged bluntness that could 
be cruelty predominating over every other expression. Yes. Aunt 
Mercedes was sure he was not quite so bad — 

As she looked she saw a light fiash into those grave eyes. Mrs. 
Loring was coming back again, a tall, slender girl beside her — a 
girl with golden hair and a saucy, dimpled, fair face. 

This is another of my very own young people,^^ said Mrs. 
Loring — her eyes resting the while on Warren Armitage. ^^This 
is Miss Ayrton, Miss Estrada. Both she and Mr. Armitage are 
newcomers to Boston — visitors, for a while — ’’ 

Visitors ? echoed Aunt Mercedes. 

Yes — from away out West — oh, a forsaken part of the coun- 
try,^^ and she laughed merrily. Mr. Armitage is lord of his own 
domain out there, I believe — has a sort of feudal arrangement, 
which is quite interesting to hear of. Miss A3Tton has had the 
advantage of Eastern culture.^^ 

Therefore I am not quite so Western as Mr. Armitage,^^ said 
Sybil Ayrton, smiling. He is of the West-Westy.” 


WITH FLAG OF TRUCE, 


45 


^^And proud of ii” he retorted. it such a dreadful 

thing 

It was plainly to be seen that he had eyes and ears for nothing 
or no one in the room but this slender, fair girl in her blue dress. 

JSTo — not so dreadful/^ she answered. And she smiled. It 
was a very encouraging smile, indeed. Aunt Mercedes lifted her 
fan to her lips to hide the quiver at the corners of her own mouth. 
She could sympathize with these two, old as she was, and long-dis- 
tant as the things of youth seemed now. She had a young heart, 
despite the tragedy her life had been. 

Two men lounging against the wall, looking bored indeed, for 
at homes were evidently not-at-homes to them, fell into mutual 
conversation. And strangely enough, their conversation was of 
Sybil Ayrton, and the tall young fellow standing so close beside 
her. 

^^Armitage looks as if he had a sort of proprietary interest, 
doesnT he ? 

And the young lady seems agreeable,^^ laughed the other. 

He’s a fine chap. Haven’t known him very long — only about 
six weeks, but he’s white, you bet. Know Dean ? ” 

Dean Armitage ? Should say I do ! What is he — a relative ?” 

Brother.” 

No — you don’t say ! Funny ! They don’t look alike.” 

And they’re not alike — ^you can gamble on that. Warren is 
as steady a man as ever I met, cool-headed, honest — 

Lord ! Where does the other chap come in ? ” 

God knows. He’s certainly a plunger. Isn’t he ? ” 

^^Lost five thousand two or three days ago. I don’t think 
that’s right. I don’t believe in such heavy betting myself. Some 
one’s keeping him priiued up. Seems queer. Heard a strange 
assertion the other night — Betweeu ourselves—” 


46 


WITH FLAG OF TRUCE. 


Oh, that^s all right. You know me.'’^ 

0. K. He^s in line to marry Marion Massey 

She^s as poor as a church mouse.^^ 

Of — course. I think he^ll have to cut it. Old Ohapin is 
supplying the necessary evil. Wonder why?^^ 

^^What — Chapin? Morris Chapin? That’s an old skinflint 
for you. I can’t bear that man.” 

There’s his daughter — the young girl talking to Paulina 
Loring.” 

^^That man’s daughter — Say! Nice little thing, isn’t she? 
Sort of moonshiny.” 

Does look delicate.” 

I’m surprised the Chapins can ring in here.” 

The girl is all right. Her aunt and Mrs. Loring are fast 
friends — schoolmates. They say the old lady is next door to a 
princess in her own country — ^the little old lady in black, talking 
to Warren Armitage now.” 

— see. She’s all right. Looks it, too. Chapin must be 
worth a lot of money.” 

Couple of million, sure. Wonder what his game is? ” 

The daughter, I think.” 

Oh, nonsense. That’s story-book trash.” 

^^I’ve heard a few things, all right. Wouldn’t be a bit sur* 
prised.” 

'^But Dean is much too old. Why, that girl looks about 
fifteen.” 

Dean’s only twenty-four, and she’s nearly seventeen — her 
father says. Not so bad.” 

Humph 1 He can’t marry her off for a couple of years yet — 
maybe not before she’s twenty. And if he keeps Dean in cash until 
the girl is twenty — ” 


WITH FLAG OF TRUCE, 


47 


you think Warren knows 

About Dean ? The other broke into a silent laugh. But- 
ter wouldnT melt in that chap’s mouth when his big brother is 
around.” 

Still there’s something very attractive about Dean Armitage.” 

Very ; personal magnetism, I suppose. He ought to get out 
of Chapin’s clutches himself and he a man. There’s any number 
would have him.” 

They say he and Miss Massey are very much in love.” 

She’s too nice to throw herself away on Dean. He’s all 
right as a boon companion, but by Jove, he won’t make a poor 
girl a good husband.” 

I should say not. Tired of this ? ” 

Awfully. Let’s get out. I’m anxious for a quiet game of 
billiards.” 

I’ll join you.” 

^^All right.” 

And making adieux to their hostess, both gentlemen vanished 
from the room — adjourning for further discussion of friends and 
neighbors to their clubrooms, where we will leave them. 


48 


THE DAY OF RECKONING. 


CHAPTEE V. 

THE DAY OF RECKONING. 

Marjorie Chapin^ at seventeen, was a fair indication of 
Marjorie Chapin at twenty. Quiet as of old, reserved and sensi- 
tive. Striking beauty never would be bers — but she bad an in- 
teresting face, very expressive, very thoughtful, very intelligent. 
At twenty she was a woman in seriousness of feeling — she had 
outgrown the childishness, but not the innocence of girlhood. 

In all the time that elapsed from Marjorie’s seventeenth to 
her twentieth birthday. Aunt Mercedes had lived on her scanty 
income, suffering much denial at first, but enduring it bravely. 
She was a queer soul, this Mercedes Estrada. Eeligious to a 
certain extent, but with such a peculiar conception of a soul’s 
dependence on God as would sound strange in the ears of one 
who fully understood the term. She never questioned her own 
actions; what she thought fit to do was sufficient to satisfy her- 
self — therefore would God be satisfied. 

There are many like her in the world. 

She had suffered a great deal, that was true. And it was no 
slight pain that bade her indomitable heart cast off the husband 
who had dared to mistrust her. She never doubted her right to 
do as she pleased in that matter, seeing that it concerned herself, 
that she was the chief sufferer, that she it was who had been mis- 
judged. 

And yet this hard little old lady had a tender heart, at times, 
as even Catalina could tell. Dictatorial she might be, but when 


THE DAY OF RECKONING. 


49 


pain came to any one she seemed another woman. She loved 
Marjorie, and nothing could have separated them had not that 
old lady told herself that it was, with her, a matter of principle, 
a matter of duty. 

The cost of it to Marjorie, thrown on herself for those three 
years, her aunt did not take into consideration. Marjorie was 
faithful, indeed. Eain or shine, sickness or health, saw her, at the 
selfsame hour on every day, standing at Aunt Mercedes^ door. 
But she felt the burden. It was no easy task for an inexperienced 
girl to manage a household. Yet that was what it meant, after 
Aunt Mercedes left. She did not ask a single question. She 
simply faced the problem, argued it out with herself as was her 
quiet, childish way — and then set about its solving. 

All this responsibility had added gravity to the already too 
grave face; had deepened the seriousness of her serious nature. 
She did not disturb her father. She refused to be dismayed — 
let the difficulty be what it might — and he, engrossed in busi- 
ness, never gave a mementos thought to what power it was kept 
the home-wheels moving, kept the house as well-ordered as ever 
it had been in Aunt Mercedes^ time. 

So at' twenty we come again to look at Marjorie Chapin. Tall, 

. slim, gentle of step, meek of voice, with calm, fair face — too pale, 
perhaps, in its extreme delicacy. She had withdrawn from those 
of her schoolmates and friends who had accepted her because of 
her connection with her aunt. She felt, if they did not say so, 
that they simply tolerated her — and Marjorie did not care over- 
much for toleration. There was a streak of firmness hidden 
within her — firmness that was as far removed from obstinacy as 
daylight is from darkness. She would not take invitations nor 
give them. She was too busy, she told her father, in excuse — 
she had no time. Afterward — 


60 


THE BAY OF RECKONING, 


With that afterward he too^ was satisfied, for the day of 
reckoning must surely come, and when it came, his daughter 
would attain at i^ne bound the position he desired for her. And 
that she might not be tempted to form other ties, it was as well that 
she gave up most of the friends whom she had found in younger 
days. Morris Chapin had no wish to see Marjorie bring needless 
suffering on herself by entertaining sentimental fancy for any 
one who might pay court to her. He did not imagine for a moment 
that his daughter would or could ever care for anything or any 
one contrary to his wishes. And with him her future was already 
assured. She was merely a stepping-stone to the desire of his 
life. 

He meant to be more than generous to Dean Armitage. War- 
ren, striving to make name and place for himself, could easily 
be set aside, since with money he, too, could do as he pleased. 
Chapin had it all planned. He knew just what every stick on 
Armitage was worth; he had calculated just how much money it 
would cost to buy Warren Armitage off, and compel him to give 
up his claims to the home that he, Morris Chapin, coveted. And 
he would help Dean Armitage build up the place^and then, giving 
up business cares, would go to make his home under the roof of 
that house from whose doors he had once been harried. 

Who can read the mind of man? He wanted to see Marjorie — 
his daughter Marjorie — ^take the place of that disdainful woman 
whom he hated with an enmity that all the years had not 
served to dispel. The memory of his dislike; the memory of her 
face as she fiung those mocking words at him; the memory of 
her air as she drove about the town and the grounds that were 
not her own indeed by any right: all these he thought of, often, 
and ground his teeth over them. And there was another reason — 
a reason that betrayed his true nature. 


THE BAY OF RECKONING, 


51 


He had exulted when he learned Mercedes Estrada^s tale — 
for he felt that with Mercedes Estrada^s help he could do much 
to carry out his project. When that quarrel arose, and he realized 
that Mercedes Estrada^s help was not to be had, he determined 
to do without it ; he had never found any one necessary in his life. 
That was his disposition. 

But the day of reckoning came. The young and handsome 
fellow, faultlessly groomed, faultlessly appareled, looking the 
gentleman, and feeling it, entered the private room of his good 
friend, Morris Chapin, this morning with as gay a face as ever 
he wore in all his gay life. It was the morning of Marjorie’s 
twentieth birthday — ^but this handsome young man was scarcely 
aware of her existence. To his knowledge he had never seen 
Morris Chapin’s daughter. 

Morris Chapin greeted him with his usual cordiality. . Dean 
Armitage sat down in the chair most convenient, flipped a 
cigarette toward the other — which was declined with a smile — and 
prepared to listen to what that other had to say. Unpleasant, 
of course. But Dean Armitage was not one to worry over any- 
thing unpleasant. 

have had time to look through a few accounts within 
the past week or so,” said Chapin, in his singularly smooth tones. 

Your accounts, my dear fellow, among others.” 

Found mine well muddled, I dare say,” said Dean Armitage. 

Oh, no — ^they’re all pretty straight. Only that you, too, 
might care tO' take a peep at them. Would you? ” 

Yow Dean knew that he had been summoned for this purpose. 
He merely nodded. But his eyes were anxious. 

You owe me to-day, in solid cash, the sum of $21,487,” said 
Morris Chapin, coolly. 

Dean stared at him, open-mouthed. 


52 


THE BAY OF RECKONING, 


^^What!’’ he said. 

^^Just that — it is here in black and white. A respectable 
sum, Mr. Armitage, and one I am in pressing need of just at 
present. When can you settle?’’ 

Settle ? ” said Dean Armitage. Settle ! Say, look here, 
Chapin, it’s not that much — it can’t be. How about the com- 
missions you were to give me for getting Hendrick’s business for 
you, and the Bussells? You’d better figure out where I’m at in 
this little game.” ^ . 

He spoke hotly. Chapin smiled. 

My dear fellow, you’re not anywhere in this little game, and 
the sooner you realize it the better.” 

I can mention at least ten people within the past two years 
who have paid you pretty margins — and whom I brought to you,” 
said Dean Armitage. ^^You yourself have told me again and 
again that we were about even. How often have I asked you 
that ? What are you up to in this, Chapin ? ” 

First have a look at the figures. Take them home with you 
and glance over them. I’ll be glad to see you any time you please 
to-morrow morning. In the mean time, after reading this state- 
ment, take a few things into consideration. First, I have your 
I. 0. IJ.’s for nearly $22,000; second, what will be your status 
in society if your friends discover that Dean Armitage has been 
making money by trading on their misfortunes, and giving the 
firm of Cordova & Chapin inside information? third, had you 
better not ask yourself how you can get out of this scrape ? There 
is a way out — a fine way out for you. Dean Armitage, and one 
I have no hesitation in thinking you will grasp at.” 

Give me the way out,” said the young man, looking at him 
suspiciously. I’d like to have your way out to chew over as 
well as this little morsel,” and he crumpled the written sheet 


THE BAY OF RECKONING. 


53 


in his hands, savagely, while his eyes grew dark. What^s your 
way out, Chapin?*'^ 

prefer not to give it now,^^ said the man. And Dean 
Armitage knew him well enough to feel that he did not intend 
to give it. 

He that dances must pay the piper-— and the day of payment 
had come for Dean Armitage. Criminally careless, he stood face 
to face with reckoning, and he did not like its aspect. He had 
never taken thought for another in all his gay life ; he had evaded 
responsibility always; he had laughed at care. Care once killed 
a cat — hut care should not kill Dean Armitage. If ever ruin 
looked a man in the face it did Dean Armitage to-day — Yet 
sufficient to the day was the evil thereof. He put the sheet of 
paper bearing record of his debts in his pocket, and went out of 
the Chapin domiciler with as firm a step as he had entered it. There 
came a shadow on his brow, however, before he was admitted to 
the next house he visited. 

Will you tell Miss Massey Mr. Armitage is here ? he said, 
and the servant, used to this announcement — for Dean Armitage 
was Miss Massey^s acknowledged suitor — bowed and went off. 

Dean was whistling under his breath a gay little song he had 
heard at the play the evening before, when Miss Massey entered. 

There is nothing more galling to a proud spirit than to be 
forced, by circumstances, to occupy a dependent position. In 
Marion Massey’s case it was not only dependent — since she was 
penniless, and provided for by the wealthy aunt to whom she held 
the position of companion — ^but for the last three years it had 
been a false one. She had given her future into Dean Armitage’s 
careless hands — and he had taken it as he took all the other re- 
sponsibilities that came across his path — and shirked it. She 
had given up hoping for better things — one could see that in the 


64 


THE DAY OF RECKONING. 


sad light that was in her eyes, and in the pathetic curve of her 
lips. Things had gone very hard with her that day. She had 
been tormented by the caprices of an erratic, overbearing woman, 
and it was no auspicious occasion for Dean Armitage to call. 

Yet she had no word of reproach ready. She was willing, 
with unusual common sense, to shoulder the consequences of her 
rash act three years before — as her silent endurance of conditions 
proved. But sometimes the feeling of deception was very hard 
to bear — and it was pressing upon her now as she stood looking at 
her husband. 

With a smile on his lips he came forward and kissed her. 

You do not look well,^^ he said. What is the matter ? 

I am a trifle vexed,^’ she made answer. And you ? 

Oh, I am — as usual.^^ 

As usual ? Is that state of mind to be congratulated or de- 
plored 

He laughed. 

I donT know, Marion. Both. I don’t think anything 
could make me unhappy.” 

Ho,”' she said, bitterly. Yothing could.” 

He frowned, noticing for the first time that her white face 
was not the only indication of her weakness ; that her nose looked 
pinched, and that there were heavy shadows under her eyes. He 
came nearer and put his arm around her shoulders. He had a 
caressing, boyish, careless manner that made women like him in- 
stinctively. Marion put her head on his shoulder and began to 
cry in silence, and he bent above her, remorse striking at his heart 
as he tried to soothe her. She had never given way like this be- 
fore. 

What is it, Marion ? ” he asked again. Poor child, poor 
little girl, what is it ? ” 


THE DAY OF RECKONING. 


55 


Oh, I can^t stand it any longer/^ she said. Aunt Eleanor 
is growing worse every day. Mr. Tomlinson has been here 
again — Dean, it isnT fair to me that I must stand being pressed 
to marry another man when I am already a wife. Take me away 
from here. I canT stand it any longer.^^ 

Tomlinson ? The old fool ! said Dean Armitage, angrily. 

He^s old enough to be your grandfather. What does he mean, 
anyhow ? 

He thinks, of course, that I am free — Aunt Eleanor laughs 
at our attachment, yours and mine. She tells me that Dean 
Armitage can never hope to keep a wife — never. I have been 
waiting three years now. Dean. Aunt Eleanor flings that up to 
me. What would she say if she knew the truth? That I had 
been your wife all this time — and that I am no nearer going into 
a home of my own than I was the night I married you ? 

She did not speak reproachfully — simply stated a fact. He 
took his arm away from her and stood looking at her with troubled 
eyes, tugging his mustache savagely. Again remorse pricked 
him. She was a faithful girl, and he was but a poor apology for 
manliness. 

Truly, the day of reckoning had come for Dean Armitage. He 
thought of the sheet of paper in his pocket and sighed. 

Look here, Marion,^^ he said. We canT go on in this way. 
The longer I stay here where people know me, the worse off 1^11 
be, and the farther from settling down. You know very well that 
I had no idea we would have to wait so long. Circumstances — 

I know, Dean, I know,^^ she said, with the ready excuse her 
too great affection had always had for him. Only, Dean — I 
am willing to work, also. Let us get out of this misery. Let us 
acknowledge each other before the world.^^ 

I can learn to work — and I will,^^ he said, doggedly. I’ll 


56 


THE DAY OF REGKONim. 


settle this, Marion. Warren will be in town to-night, and he^ll 
come to my rooms. • 1^11 make a clean breast of the whole business, 
and ask his advice. To-morrow afternoon 1^11 come for you — 
and we can tell your aunt then, before you leave. We’ll manage 
some way.” 

We’ll manage some way.” That had been the maxim that 
made for Dean Armitage’s undoing. We’ll manage some way.” 
But Marion’s pale face glowed with new hope. 

You’ll find out how much better it will be,” she said. And 
I shall be glad when Warren knows. He is so calm and wise — 
and he will help us to do right. At first we may need him,” she 
said, proudly. ^^But not after a while. Hot after we put our 
heads together ! ” 

Hot after that,” he echoed. But he did not look at the future 
with such hopeful eyes as her woman’s heart pictured it at that 
moment. In fact, he could scarcely see where he would bring 
his wife on the morrow when he came for her. He put aside the 
disagreeable thought with a shrug. 

Oh, pshaw ! I’ll manage some way,” he said. 


THE WAY OUT, 


57 


CHAPTEE VI. 

THE WAY OUT. 

There are many unpleasant things to be encountered in this 
world, even by those who are engaged in the stress of daily affairs, 
and know that life is but another name for responsibility. To us 
who are serious, grave problems do not come with such crushing 
force ; it is not hard to resolve on a certain course of action and to 
abide by it, then; it is not hard to face even a privation if one 
knows that it is necessary, or that the sacrifice will mean gain in 
the end — either materially or spiritually. 

Dean Armitage was not serious by nature, as we have said. He 
might have claimed to belong to any other church he pleased, so 
far as practising the Catholic religion was concerned. Eeligion 
had never meant much to any of the Armitages. They did not 
see, they had never seen overmuch of it in their own home — ^their 
mother being what she called too busy to practise it, and her 
boys missing, in that way, the wonderful and sweet memory of 
a pious childhood. 

The lack of this memory, the lack of faith, yes, even the lack 
of God was Dean Armitage^s — and this terrible lack gave him 
nothing to fall back on now when he was brought face to face 
with his future. Of one thing he was sure — ^he would do no under- 
hand or dishonorable thing. If, in the past, he had put ^^busi-* 
ness^^ in Chapin^s way, those who needed assistance had known 
what to expect — he would not let them go into it blindly. He had 


58 


THE WAY OUT, 


not liked the man’s manner that day, and after leaving Marion 
he tried to understand the neat columns of figures given him ; but 
he thrust the paper away from him after a while, and settled him- 
self to puzzle out the meaning of the whole matter. 

Chapin had known he had no money, but Chapin had always 
seemed satisfied. He had been deucedly kind. Dean stirred un- 
easily. That kindness was not to be explained now — not until 
after the following morning. 

And, having worried enough for a man who was not used to 
worry, he put the thing out of his mind altogether — which was 
Dean Armitage’s usual course of procedure. He wrote a note to 
his brother Warren, saying that a previous engagement called him 
away that evening, but it was imperative that he lunch with him 
on the morrow, as he had information of importance to com- 
municate. 

Without a shadow of care on his handsome face he met Morris 
Chapin at ten o’clock the next day. 

I am anxious to get to the root of matters,” he said, as 
soon as he had greeted him. You will understand that, Chapin ? ” 
I understand,” said the other, with a smile. I suppose 
you’ve been going over those figures ? ” 

^^Ho,” said Dean, carelessly. ^‘1 have not. I never cculd 
understand figures — something wrong with the mathematical gray 
matter in my brain. Warren is an expert accountant. I’ll ask him 
to take a look at them when he comes. But I’d like to under- 
stand the situation clearly. You say I owe you so-and-so much 
money — don’t let’s waste any time, Chapin. I say that I have 
brought you the equivalent of that much money; you want me to 
settle your end of it, and you know I can’t do it. Yet there’s a 
way out. How, what is it?” 


THE WAY OUT. 


59 


You’ve got the hang of it, that’s sure/’ said the older man. 

That’s the case plainly, Armitage.” 

Well, then. Goon.” 

About how much is Armitage in California worth?” 
Chapin’s eyes narrowed as he asked the question, and his hands, 
lying loosely on the table, clenched involuntarily. 

Armitage ? My home ? ” Dean looked at him with a scorn- 
ful curve at the corner of his mouth. I’ve no right to Armitage, 
Chapin. It’s Warren’s, every stick and stone of it. You weren’t 
counting on being paid out of Armitage ? ” 

No,” said Chapin, slowly. No, I was not. Wouldn’t you 
like to own Armitage ? To be its master ? To do with it as you 
pleased — to enlarge it and to renovate it — ” 

He paused perceptibly between each word ; Dean looked at him 
in blank astonishment. There was a sudden gleam in his eyes. 
For he knew Armitage and knew its capabilities if there were 
enough money spent on the place. But the gleam died out. He 
sat back in his chair, shaking his head. 

You can show me up when and where you please,” he said. 

Post me in every club in Boston, and shut me out of the world 
altogether. But I’ll not do anything to Warren’s detriment. That 
property is my brother’s, man. No matter what my feelings may 
be. I’ll not tamper with his rights. Is that your scheme? Is 
that—” 

^^Wait, wait. Your brother Warren is paying attention to 
Miss Ayrton, a certain belle whose name is figuring largely in the 
New York papers just now as a social favorite. If he were offered 
$500,000 for his rights to Armitage, do you think he’d sell? 
Just — er — now? ” 

I don’t know what you mean. I’m no child. Speak plainly.” 

^^I mean that I want to make you master of Armitage. I 


60 


THE WAY OUT, 


mean that 1^11 give yon the money to buy yonr brother off. I mean 
that 1^11 liquidate every debt yon possess.'’^ 

And the price ? '' 

He asked the question with shortened breath, for the prospect 
was dazzling. He sat up quickly, looking at the steady, deter- 
mined face before him, unable to realize the full import of his 
words. His eyes were glued on that other’s lips, as if he could not 
wait to hear what next was coming. 

^^The price? What is the price, man?” 

That you make my daughter, Marjorie Chapin, your wife, 
and mistress of Armitage Hall.” 

The words were out at last. Ho shadow of compunction 
stirred Morris Chapin’s cold and selfish heart ; no question of his 
daughter’s acquiescence or refusal ; no shame at this bartering of a 
young and lovely girl. It was the moment for which Morris 
Chapin had waited all these long years, and it was not likely that 
he would set it aside for any human consideration now. 

Good God ! ” said Dean Armitage. 

That was all. But it would have made any other than Chapin 
wince — although Dean Armitage’s contempt meant little to him. 
Hot an eyelash flickered as he gazed steadily at this man, who, 
with all his faults, was a gentleman; who, with all his faults, 
realized the enormity of this barter and sale transaction; who, 
with all his faults, felt that he must get out, away, into the open 
air — or that, in another instant, he would strike Chapin to the 
ground. He rose to his feet, grasped his hat, and left him with- 
out another word. 

He met people whom he knew on his homeward way, but for 
once the light-hearted boon companion had neither words of greet- 
ing nor even consciousness of acquaintance. He was serious. 
His seriousness had come late, indeed — but it was here. And no 


THE WAY OUT, 


61 


one who has not awakened from such a state as his had been to 
such a state as his was now can understand his sensations. 

When he entered his rooms his brother was standing at the 
window gazing down into the street. Dean, moving about as if in 
a dream, passed him once or twice before he noticed hint. 

^^You are disturbed,^^ said Warren, at last, and his voice was 
strange. What is the trouble ? 

Enough,^^ was the sententious reply. Enough. I’ve got a 
frightful story to tell you, Warren — and the sooner I get it over 
the better. Come away from the window and sit down. Why — are 
you in for it, too ? ” 

I’m in for something,” said Warren Armitage. He laughed 
recklessly. Yes. I’m in for something. By J ove, but men are 
fools. Dean — and the biggest fool of all, according to the saying, 
spelled with the letter I.” 

^^You?” said Dean Armitage, wonderingly. ^^You?” 

I — I — I ! ” cried the man, and his face worked. Put off 
with promises and a few fair words — even I ! Instead of being 
man enough to take the matter in my hand and settle it, let fate do 
with me as it would. Never be wise,” he went on, still in that 
reckless fashion. He strode rapidly up and down the room. 

Never take life seriously. For I have done so. I have waited — 
I have promised myself a future — a future — a future ! I have de- 
nied myself every pleasure. I have been moderate and self- 
possessed, careful, and a man who planned for that life which was 
to be mine and hers. Oh, what an idiotic fool, to pin my faith to 
a woman’s word or plan my life because of that faith ! ” 

Miss Ayrton — ” 

^^Is engaged to be married to Philip Yanrevel. Oh, no. I 
did not depend on the papers for authentic information. I have 
here her own kind words, breaking the news gently, as it were — ” 


I 


62 THE WAY OUT. 

He choked a little as he flung the note he had held crushed 
in his hand down on the table before his brother. Dean would 
not look. He jumped to his feet, and with the quick impulsive- 
ness and ready sympathy that endeared him to every one who 
knew him, he put his arm around Warren^s shoulders. 

Poor old chap ! he said. Poor old fellow ! 

That was all. They stood that way for a few minutes, not 
saying a word. Warren had a chance to recover himself — and, 
being self-contained, to feel a little ashamed of his outburst. 

Wefll not discuss he said, more naturally. IPs kind 
of hard on a fellow, though. Dean. She promised me — and 
things were looking up, you know, lately. I was given a big com- 
mission the day before yesterday — good money in it — and I meant 
to ask her to slip away quietly, and come off to Armitage. She 
wouldnT have missed much — now. And after feeding one’s self 
with a single idea for three years — Well, I guess I’m man enough 
to stand it. She can’t be the woman I thought her to do such a 
thing, and after the first of it wears ofl I may be thankful. How, 
what’s the matter with you ? ” 

Everything,” said Dean, briefly. It’s a worse tale than 
yours, Warren. For you haven’t done anything wrong. And 
I’m a villain.” 

Warren half-smiled, despite the dull pain in his breast — for 
he knew Dean’s love for and use of superlatives. Dean had always 
been just as he was to-day, and exaggerated troubles and pecca- 
dilloes into sorrows and sins mountain high. So Warren Armitage 
smiled. 

What is it now ? ” he asked. 

I’m in debt — ^up to my ears.” 

How much ? ” 

Twenty thousand dollars odd.” 


THE WAY OUT. 


63 


Twenty — thousand — dollars — odd! You ? Are you mad ? 

Mighty near moodily. 

Twenty thousand dollars ! And not a cent to pay it with^ I 
suppose ! Who would give you credit to that extent ? Twenty 
thousand dollars ? Wliere’s your figures? 

Oh, if s down in black and white somewhere. The fellow 
showed it to me.^^ 

You owe it to one man ? Who is he ? 

Morris Chapin.” 

Morris Chapin!” 

The scorn in the othef s voice made Dean Armitage wince. 

Thaf s the man,” he said. Morris Chapin. And he^s will- 
ing to condone it — and he^s willing to pay you any sum you ask 
for Armitage, so that he can buy it for me — on condition that I 
marry his daughter. And I canT marry his daughter, for Marion 
Massey and I have been man and wife three years 1 ” 

It was all out, then. Warren Armitage with one hand on the 
back of the chair, his startled eyes on his brother’s face, could not 
move. Dean threw back his head, put his hands in his pockets, 
and met his gaze with one of utter defiance. Slowly the meaning 
of the words he had spoken took shape, so that Warren Armitage 
understood. 

W^ell, you blackguard ! ” he said. 

Dean put up his hand. But his face flushed hotly. 

We’ll waive that,” he said. We’ll waive it. If you call 
me any name you can think of, you won’t find one bad enough. I 
never dreamt that I could be so low as I am. I’m vile and worse. 
But I’m going to call a halt.” 

Warren Armitage sneered. 

Call a halt ! You’re at the end of your rope. So this ^ busi- 
ness ’ which you were supposed to pursue — ^you were a society 


64 


THE WAY OUT. 


agent for some house or other, weren’t you? — has been merely a 
blind. You’ve been living under false pretenses and accepting 
another man’s money to keep yourself in — what shall I say? — 
cigars ? ” 

He laughed. Dean Armitage sprang to his feet. 

I haven’t asked your help,” he said. I got into this and 
I’ll get out of it, that’s all. I’m not crying down now. I’m 
going to face it — 

And Marion Massey with you ? Have you told her ? ” 

Dean bit his lip. 

Ho,” he said. Ho. I haven’t told her — but, God bless her ! 
I know she’ll stick to me.” 

The feeling in his voice drove Warren’s scorn back upon his 
lips. Bitter thoughts surged through him. It had always been 
that way. Dean had never to suffer anything alone — never. Even 
now, facing the penalty of folly, he had some one who would put 
her hand in his and help him bear what consequences might befall. 
Staggering under the blow of his own disappointment, Warren 
Armitage groaned aloud, and Dean leaned toward him across the 
table. 

Forgive me,” he said, earnestly. Forgive me, Warren. I 
know how bitter it must be to you to hear such news as this. But 
I have only heard it myself yesterday and to-day. I didn’t know 
I owed Chapin as much as that. Of course, I should have known, 
but I was never famous for my business ability, and I thought I 
had given him enough to meet what money he advanced me. It 
was always there for me, Warren — and I was fool enough to take 
it when I wanted it. I persuaded Marion to 'have me, thinking 
that once we were married I would be able to do better and to 
make a home for her. She, dear girl, gave herself to me right 
willingly^ — and I — Yes, I am a blackguard — 


THE WAY OUT. 


65 


The consequences/^ said Warren Armitage, now. His quick 
mind had been grasping the situation as his brother spoke. Mar- 
riage with old Chapin^s daughter is the condition. In case of re- 
fusal, what are the consequences ? 

He^ll post me in the clubs, I suppose.^^ 

That means disgrace.’^ 

In this case — ^yes. Chapin is not very particular. He could 
make things look mighty mean.^^ 

Have you told him you are married ? 

'No. He gave me such a rap when he brought that out that 
I — I couldn’t say a word, Warren. The girl isn’t to be blamed in 
this, I’m sure — ” 

How much did you say you owe ? 

Almost twenty-two thousand.” 

Twenty-two thousand — twen — ^ty — ^two — thousand ! War- 

ren said the words over. What’s his idea ? ” 

I don’t know. I imagine — 

^^Yes. Goon.” 

His wife was Mercedes Estrada’s niece, you know. It might 
be a sort of revenge. He wants to see the girl mistress of 
Armitage.” 

And he’d sell her ! Good God, this is a great country ! Did 
you see the girl ? ” 

ISTo. I don’t remember ever seeing the girl, and I don’t 
know what she’s like.” 

Warren threw himself into a chair. 

I can’t do any more with Armitage, now,” he said moodily. 
^^I’m Just about able to keep it up — and I’ve counted on the 
money I’ll get from the firm next month to lift the mortgage on 
Outfields. By heaven. Dean, I can’t see Armitage go! We’ve 
fought that off too long—” 


66 


THE WAY OUT. 


Again he hesitated with knitted brows. 

He wants to see his daughter mistress of Armitage — That’s 
the ultimate end of his proposition ? ” 

And the only one — ^he says.” 

^^He was a pretty clever calculator — in his mind. Do you 
think I’d give up Armitage for money ? ” He spoke hotly, now. 

Hot while I could keep a stick of it together. And I’d sell it 
field by field before I’d let any one else come there as master. 
Armitage is mine. I’ve worked for it. I’ve slaved for it. How 
dare he, with his dirty, filthy, ill-gotten gain, ask me to part with 
my home ? ” 

Dean hesitated. 

He said that to me, Warren. I have no doubt that he thought 
on account of Sybil — you’d rather have something definite — 
Warren laughed shortly. 

ril make his daughter mistress of Armitage ! he said, in a 
crisp voice. You go ask him if your brother, the only master of 
Armitage, can offer himself as a candidate for the hand of the 
fair Miss Chapin — 

Warren!” Dean could not believe his senses. ^^You shall 
not,” he said. Twenty thousand is not so much. I’ll be able to 
clear it off some time. You shall not make this sacrifice for me. 
I will not have it — 

^ You ! ” said Warren Armitage, in that curt, bitter manner. 

Hot you. But for Armitage. And for myself. What a pleasant 
thing it would be to have the family name branded in the way 
that Morris Chapin would brand it. And, anyhow — ” he was in a 
particularly reckless mood — one is as good to me as another now. 
They are all alike, I suppose. Fickle, at best ; light of word, and 
blowing as the wind blows them. Yes.” He folded his arms 
across bis breast and stared moodily at his brother, That will 


THE WAY OUT. 


67 


be your way out, Dean. Lucky fellow — there is always a way out 
for those whom the gods love.'’^ 

You shall not/^ said Dean, impetuously. You are crazed, 
Warren, or you would not say such words. Let us think it over 
— take time. To ruin a man’s life for such a paltry sum! You 
shall not suffer for my weakness — ” 

^^And while you are thinking, what of your prospects? what 
of your wife ? And what do you intend to do with her ? ” 

I am going to take her away this afternoon. I shall tell her 
all. We’ll sink or swim together.” 

Sink or swim together ! ” Warren Armitage turned on him. 

Fool ! Idiot ! What do you know of taking care of a woman, 
of shouldering the responsibilities of a home? Her daily food 
will depend on you — on you. What means have you of supply- 
ing it ? ” 

Enough for the present,” said Dean, with the doggedness of 
a weak nature driven to the wall. It’s rather late in the day to 
promise to make anything of myself, and all you can say isn’t half 
bad enough for me. But if there’s any sacrificing to be done. I’ll 
do it — ^not you. Marion, I know, will stick to me — all women 
aren’t like Sybil—” 

^^Do you mean it?” asked Warren, in a changed voice. ^^Do 
you mean to do differently after this. Dean ? ” 

He put his hand on his shoulder — and Dean met his eyes 
squarely. 

As I hope for any happiness in life,” he said. I mean to 
be different from this hour.” 

Then let me help you,” said Warren. I can assure you that 
the thing I propose is not repugnant to me. I have no doubt that 
Chapin will be satisfied with the exchange. I’ll take the girl and 
I’ll do what is just and right by her. It will save you and it will 


68 


THE WAY OUT. 


save Armitage. I can^t let Armitage go. Dean. l\e fought too 
hard for it. I suppose I shouldn’t be so attached to it, but I can’t 
help it. And if you will. I’ll speak to the firm and try to get you 
in there. I have five thousand dollars now — ^with what I expect 
next month — and we’ll pay that to Chapin as a beginning. For 
we’ve got to clear up that debt, somehow. We’re not cads enough 
to have such a man as he is holding a debt over our heads — ” 

Dean turned away. The tears were in his eyes. This was the 
way out, indeed, but the magnanimity of his brother’s offer made 
him feel what a criminal carelessness had been his own. He could 
not speak. 

And of the girl who was the greatest factor in this matter no 
one thought. She was a cipher to both brothers, and a cipher to 
that father, too, despite her necessity. What she would think, 
how she would act, no one surmised — the brothers, because they 
did not know her; the father, because she was so silent, so re- 
served, so passive, that he anticipated no difficulty. 

And let us see how Marjorie Chapin took this disposal of her 
future. 


WHAT MARJORIE SAID, 


69 


CHAPTEE VIL 

WHAT MARJORIE SAID. 

We have called to see Miss Massey. It was Warren Armi- 
tage who spoke. And ask Mrs. Blount to come down also, please. 
We shaVt detain her more than ten minutes/’ 

Eor, as usual, the methodical brother had taken matters into 
his own hands. He had come to lend his support, if support was 
necessary. And Dean, sober-faced and serious, stood beside him, 
waiting. 

Marion was the first to enter, fully dressed as for a journey. 
The tired pallor had left her face; the eyes that had wept many 
secret tears seemed to have been bathed in an elixir of brightness ; 
her lips were parted. She hesitated as she stood just inside the 
door, for she was a little shy always in the presence of her hus- 
band’s graver and more settled brother. 

Come,” he said, smiling kindly, and holding out his hands 
to her. I have never had a sister until now. It is my mis- 
fortune that I have not known my luck this last three years.” 

Dean looked at him gratefully. Marion flushed and put both 
gloved hands into those extended to her. 

My congratulations, Mrs. Armitage.” 

The portieres were drawn aside. A tall woman, with sharp 
features, heard the last words as she entered the room. But she 
did not understand them. 

^^You wished to see me,. Mr. Armitage?” she questioned in 
a shrill voice. I believe Pearson told me — ” 


70 


WHAT MARJORIE SAID, 


Yes/^ said Warren Armitage. He still held Marion^s hands 
in his, and he smiled now into the haughty face of the woman 
who stared from one to the other. I have the happiness to in- 
form you of a fact that I myself only discovered last evening — 
the marriage of my brother Dean to your niece. I believe they 
wish to start on their wedding trip.^^ He did not think it neces- 
sary to mention how long they had been married. Lots of room 
at Armitage for a dozen brides, and they can catch the 6.30 
train — 

Marion ! said her Aunt Eleanor, in an awful voice. 

Marion 

In spite of herself, in spite of the fact that she was to say 
good-by within the hour to this house, the scene of her misery; 
and to this woman who had made her life almost unbearable, 
Marion shivered. Warren felt the tremor, and was conscious of 
a tenderer feeling toward her. His kindness had been prompted 
by policy — he would help his brother to abide by the conse- 
quences of his actions. But now he pressed her hands encourag- 
ingly. 

Is it true ? went on the aunt, in that tone of utter dis- 
gust. Ungrateful — 

Do not say anything which you may regret,^^ said Dean 
Armitage. My wife — 

^^Your wife! I will not believe it! And such a future in 
store for her ! Your wife, indeed ! Marion, do you actually mean 
to tell me that you have chosen Dean Armitage in preference to 
John Tomlinson 

Yes, aunt,^^ said Marion, in a very meek voice. She looked 
at her husband with an irrepressible smile. In preference to 
a dozen John Tomlinsons.^^ 

But her aunt was staring at her. 


WHAT MARJORIE SAID. 


71 


It is true? she said^ harshly. You know what that means, 
I presume ? Your place is with your husband.^^ 

Yes,^^ said Marion, again. Warren Armitage gave her hand 
into Deanes. 

And into her husband^s keeping I give her,’^ he said. My 
dear Mrs. Blount, none of us can help this thing — let us try to 
make the best of it. My mother is anxious to make her new 
daughter’s acquaintance, has telegraphed her blessing, and desires 
them to go to Armitage at once. Let the younger Mrs. Armitage 
depart with pleasurable memories on her new life.” 

I did not deserve this from Marion,” said Mrs. Blount. 
While she disliked Dean Armitage, she had a great respect for 
Warren, and his persuasive tones helped to mollify her anger. 
And seeing that Marion was to be so heartily received by her hus- 
band’s family — After all, the Armitages — 

But it was Marion’s day. She had little kindness to remember 
these last years of her life — little kindness and much bitterness 
of soul. She would make no advances, and the parting was ex- 
tremely frigid. Warren had lost no time. He had, indeed, wired 
the. news of Dean’s marriage to his mother, and bidden her send 
her congratulations. ^¥hich she did immediately — sure that if 
Warren approved, the match must be a good one. Mrs. Blount 
wished them to dine with her, but Marion was feverishly anxious 
to get away. As was Warren. He wanted to see Dean out of the 
city, and then go on with the course he had planned. 

He drove to Morris Chapin’s house after he had bidden Dean 
and Marion good-by at the railroad station. He had seen the man 
on several occasions, and heartily disliked him. Neverthe- 
less, there was a name to save, and a bargain to fulfil. 

am Warren Armitage, the master of Armitage,” he said. 
^^You are Morris Chapin?” 


72 


WHAT MARJORIE SAID. 


The man he confronted stared at him. At the steady eyes, the 
grim jaw, the determined face, knowing that here he had met 
Deanes antithesis. 

I am Morris Chapin.’^ 

Well. You were trying to drive a bargain with my brother, 
I believe. Willing to sell your daughter for a consideration. My 
brother can not carry out any bargain with you. He has been a 
married man three years.^^ 

A faint pallor crossed Morris Chapin^s face. He smiled in a 
disagreeable manner. 

Your brother is prepared to take the consequences ? 

Unless you are willing to accept me as a substitute.^^ 

It took a good deal to disconcert this man. But he stood 
staring at the haughty dark face with his mouth half open. 

^^You!^^ 

I. Perhaps I do not suit your requirements ? ’’ 

Infinitely better than your brother,^’ was the blunt re- 
joinder. I am to understand, then, that you are making a formal 
request for the hand of my daughter, Marjorie? 

Warren Armitage smiled. 

A sop to the proprieties ! he said. Yes — put it that way 
if you will. If the young lady is as delicate about such matters as 
her father, it is better to start in on that basis.^^ 

I would have you under stand,^^ said Morris Chapin, in a cold 
tone, that my daughter is the niece of Mercedes Estrada.^^ 

^^A most noble inheritance,’^ said the other, bitterly. ^^I 
have no tender memories of Mercedes Estrada.” 

You never knew her.” 

Ho. I met her — once. And I knew of her. Which was suf- 
ficient — ” 

There was the soft tapping of a gloved hand at the door, and 


WHAT MARJORIE ^AID, 


73 


the next moment, without waiting permission, a figure in gray 
entered the room. 

I may enter, father ? I beg your pardon, please.’^ The girl 
spoke hastily, on seeing the stranger. I thought you were alone. 
Aunt Mercedes has sent for me. She is — 

She stood hesitatingly at the door, embarrassed, not knowing 
whether to continue or not. Warren Armitage did not look at 
her. For already he was half repenting of the step he had taken. 

Come,^^ said Morris Chapin, quietly. Come here, Mar- 
jorie.^^ 

^^But it is nothing, father — I am going to — 

Mr. Armitage — you know Mr. Armitage, Marjorie ? 

No, father, I do not.^^ She spoke wonderingly. 

He has just done you the honor, dear, of asking your hand 
in marriage. And I have promised him that you will consider 
the matter favorably 

Warren Armitage smiled, and turned his eyes from the window 
to the door, where the girl stood. She was staring at her father. 
He noticed the slender grace of her figure; the delicacy of her 
features — 

And now, Mr. Armitage, we will go on with the rest of this, 
if you please,’^ said Morris Chapin, turning to his desk. ^^You 
and Marjorie will have time to get acquainted, I dare say, before 
the happy event takes place — 

Father!'' 

Her eyes were distended, fixed on him. He glanced up, 
frowning. 

^^My dear? Just a little while, Marjorie, and I will explain 
all to you. Leave us now.’^ 

Are you crazy, father ? The girl had found voice at last, 
and came nearer them. Are you actually crazy ? 


74 


WHAT MARJORIE ^AID. 


He turned his head in annoyed surprise. 

is rather sudden — is that it? But have patience. Mr. 
Armitage and I have business to talk over. Afterward — 

The girl fell back. It seemed to her when she came in contact 
with her father that she simply threw herself against a wall of 
stone. But this was too much. He had gone too far. Some- 
thing in his face, his voice, told her that he meant this thing. 
She could not understand. Very quietly she withdrew from the 
room, without exchanging a single word with her future husband. 
He had been too indifferent to glance at her after that first time. 
But the quiver in her voice made him uneasy. 

You will understand that your daughter is not to be forced 
in any way,^^ he said. You are surely not willing to bind her 
to one man if she cares for another ? ” 

She cares for no one save the one I tell her to,^^ was the 
response. She has been supposing that she was to marry Dean 
Armitage. And you are not Dean Armitage.^^ 

She loved my — 

She loves no one. It is not a question of love with Mar- 
jorie. She is not fond of society — either of men or of women. 
She has no likes or dislikes. Her husband will be the first to 
claim her affection — and her obedience. She has always been 
affectionate and obedient toward me, and she is a good, religious 
girl/" 

She is really your daughter ? "" asked Warren Armitage. 

Why do you ask ? 

It seems incredulous that a man could wish to bind his only 
daughter to one he does not know. What credentials have I 
brought you that I am reputable? What knowledge have you of 
my character — "" 

Such knowledge that if you had a vice I would have helped 


WHAT MARJORIE SAID. 


75 


you indulge it to pave the way for Dean Armitage, of Armitage/^ 
said Chapin^ flaring up suddenly. I have a daughter. But I 
have also an ambition. And I wish to see my daughter the mis- 
tress of Armitage."^^ 

You are espousing Mercedes Estrada^s cause? Is that it?^^ 

No. I was married to her niece before I knew that I could 
help to avenge Mercedes Estrada. I think it will be enough to 
put Marjorie Chapin in her great-aunt^s place.^^ 

Oh ! said Warren Armitage. You speak with under- 
standing. What do you know of Armitage ? 

^^A little — a — ve-ry — little.^^ He smiled. am an older 
man than you.^^ 

Yes/^ said Warren Armitage, musingly; ^^you are. But of - 
one thing I want to tell you. I shall always be master of Armi- 
tage — always. It shall never be sold — not a stick of it. What 
your designs are in regard to it, I don^t know. But in making 
your daughter its mistress, I would have you understand that it 
can never be yours — ^never.^^ 

I do not want it,^^ said Morris Chapin. 

^^And you mean to tell me that you are willing to go to all 
this trouble — ^to such an expenditure — that you have planned all 
this — for what ? One thing. To see your daughter in my mother^s 
place ? 

Just thaV’ said Morris Chapin. He began to laugh under 
his breath. How you have hit it. How you know it. I want 
that little girl, the daughter of Morris Chapin, to stand in your 
mother’s shoes. That’s my ambition.” 

My mother is a strong and hearty woman— our California 
air is healthy,” said Warren Armitage. It will he many years 
before your ambition is satisfied.” 

Chapin said nothing, for he knew. He knew Stephanie Armi- 


76 


WHAT MARJORIE SAID. 


tage, and no bitterer blow could befall her than to have the grand- 
niece of Mercedes Estrada and the daughter of Morris Chapin 
wedded to her eldest son. But he said nothing — ^not a word. 

We will get down to business/^ said Warren Armitage, now. 

I have brought my brother's accounts. I want to see where we 
stand.^^ 

Meanwhile^ Marjorie, with all the long-repressed, long 
quiescent passion of her soul flaring to white heat within her 
bosom, was making her way in the direction of her great-aunt^s 
dwelling. She had forgotten the news that had been brought her 
almost within the hour — that Mercedes Estrada was ill, and wished 
to see her immediately. It was this news she had meant to com- 
municate to her father when she entered his room, but the 
words she had heard had driven all other thoughts far away. 

Catalina^s grave face when she reached the little house in 
the Esplanade brought her to her senses. 

Do not tell me she is so ill ! said Marjorie, in a hurried 
whisper. She is really not very ill, Catalina ? 

She will never be better,^^ said Catalina, mournfully. She 
will never be better in this world.^^ 

Marjorie put her hand to her head, and sank down on the 
chair, a heavy sigh passing her lips. 

She is waiting for you. Miss Marjorie.’^ 

I can not go to her yet,’^ said Marjorie. Oh, Catalina, I 
am so dizzy — so dizzy ! And there is a pain — ^here.^^ She pressed 
her side. I have run so fast and I am so nervous. I wouldn^t 
dare to go near her for i little while.^^ 

She was indeed trembling violently. Catalina took her hat 
and gloves and laid them on the table. The old servant's anxiety 
was plainly visible, and her face, worn and haggard, showed the 
effects of several nights’ tedious watching. Since her mistress’ 


WHAT MARJORIE SAID. 


77 


illness had taken this fatal turn^ Catalina had neither slept nor 
rested. 

I suppose it is time — Miss Mercedes is old enough,” said 
the woman now. Still, I am older — I had hoped that I would 
be the first — ” 

Do not say such things,” said Marjorie. It is but tempo- 
rary — this bad turn. It will pass. It must pass,” she continued, 
with feverish energy, ^^it must pass. Never have I needed her so 
much as at this very moment. Surely God won^t take her away 
just when I need her most ? ” 

She spoke as she felt — desperately, her face pale, her brows 
contracted as one under a severe mental strain. Catalina was too 
absorbed in her own sorrow to notice the girFs unwonted ex- 
citement. After a while Marjorie rose, and went upstairs to her 
aunFs bedroom. 

She had scarcely believed Catalina^s words. But now, looking 
at the pinched face and blue lips of the woman who had been her 
only guide, and from whom she had received as much tenderness 
and affection as she was capable of showing, poor Marjorie was 
fain to believe. Yes — she was convinced at that instant, as she 
stood looking down at her, she was convinced that her aunt was 
dying. And her own sorrow seemed to stand far off from her 
— ^to move away from her- — in presence of the dread defstroying 
angel. 

She had never seen death in any form in all her young life. 
It was but a vague word — she had no idea of its true meaning. 
Now she knew. Marjorie Chapin comprehended suddenly how 
unreal, how pitiful a thing is life which counts itself so brave 
and so strong and so confident, and is yet so temporary a gift. 

All these thoughts thronged through her brain. She clasped 
her hands together. The closed lids of the dying woman fluttered, 


78 


WHAT MARJORIE SAID. 


wavered, flew open. Aunt Mercedes stared at her niece, and then 
tried to smile, weakly. 

It is you, dear ? I thought you were never coming.^^ 

Oh, yes,^^ said Marjorie, in a whispering voice, as she bent 
to kiss her. You are worse. Aunt Mercedes? 

Much worse. The end is very close at hand, I know. I will 
die to-night, Marjorie.^^ 

'No/’ said Marjorie, and the tears rushed to her eyes. You 
are weak. Aunt Mercedes. Do not talk like that — 

I will die to-night, Marjorie. And I am not sorry. 

Oh, Aunt Mercedes ! The cry was a protest from the girhs 
aching heart. 

For you ? Yes. I am sorry that I must leave you. But you 
do not need me, child. Your need of me is imaginary. You have 
your own life to live, you will have your own will to help you — 
Aunt Mercedes, I can not live without you.^^ 

Aunt Mercedes patted the trembling' hand with her own thin, 
delicate fingers. 

^^Yes, dear; yes, you can.^^ She waited a few minutes. 
The girl had put her tear-wet face down on the pillow. 

Aunt Mercedes, I want you — I want you so sorely. To whom 
shall I turn when you are gone ? 

Will not God help you ? said Mercedes Estrada, in a low 

voice. 

Marjorie did not answer. 

That was my mistake, Marjorie. You are too true to make 
that mistake. ... I am sorry. There are many things could 
have been different — 

You will die at peace with Him — 
am, dear, Father Varian was here this morning. I am 

ready,” 


WHAT MARJORIE BAW. 


79 


Again silence, broken by a bitter sigh from Marjorie. She 
sat up straight, and pushed her fair hair out of her eyes. 

I shall go to Father Varian myself. . . . Aunt Mer- 

cedes, I went in to tell father that you had sent for me, that you 
were ill. There was a gentleman in the room with him — a Warren 
Armitage, father called him.^^ 

Yes, dear. I know him.^^ 

He has asked father’s permission to marry me.^^ 

Warren Armitage — ” 

^^Yes — and father says that I am to do so — I, Aunt Mer- 
cedes ! I never saw him before.’^ Her cheeks were flushed now. 

Father has strange ideas of how far he may enforce obedience. 
I will not marry him.” 

Aunt Mercedes looked at her. She had known this was com- 
ing; had been dreading it. But dissolution was near at hand; 
life and the things of life were too shadowy to interest her ; as with 
all of us when that moment comes, the weight of the other world 
was upon her spirits. 

I do not think they can drive you, Marjorie — and they will 
find that out — ” 

Marry the first man who presents himself ! Father must 
think very, very little of his daughter, aunt. And he would 
force me to marry because he wishes it! Our Church forbids 
such a marriage as that — and every law in the land as well. I 
shall not do it.” 

You are right,” said Aunt Mercedes. Do not be bullied 
or worried into it. Oh, it is a good thing to keep away from 
Stephanie Armitage, Marjorie. She it was who caused all my 
suffering — who told those miserable, cruel lies — ^you will read all 
— find out all — when I am gone. I am leaving you the story. I 
forgive her for the bitter wrong she did me, but I would not want 


80 


WHAT MARJORIE SAID, 


you ever to come in contact with her, dear. She has no scruples 
if she wishes to gain a point. Do not let them frighten you, Mar- 
jorie.^^ 

Mar J oriels steady eyes looked down at her. The determination 
of that moment drove out even surprise at the unexpectedness of 
these tidings. 

ISTo; I shall not,^^ she said. Do not fear. Aunt Mercedes.’^ 
The flickering interest aroused by Marjorie’s news died away; 
the old lady turned her head from side to side. 

I wish it were over,” she said, in a low voice. I can not 
bear waiting. Stay with me, Marjorie.” 

Yes, Aunt Mercedes.” 

Stay with me. . . .” Her voice was a whisper now; the 

lids closed ; she slept. 


WHAT MARJORIE DID. 


81 


CHAPTEE VIIL 

WHAT MARJORIE DID. 

And now, seeing, fearing the very worst, Marjorie became rest- 
less. She intended to remain with Aunt Mercedes until the end 
— if it came — or until she took a turn for the better. Yet the 
thought that her father would not know her sentiments on the 
most important matter that had ever entered her life ; the thought 
that he, so self-assured and so self-confident, might be taking 
steps even then to decide the details of the union he had announced 
to her ; this, and an altogether new feeling of anger that was almost 
a passion, urged the hitherto gentle, soft-voiced, mild-mannered 
girl to immediate action. She felt that she must see her father, 
listen to him, give him her decision — once and for all inform him 
of her utter and absolute refusal to do the thing he seemed to 
expect. 

Another girl would have looked upon the whole matter as 
absurd; would have laughed at it; would have put it aside with- 
out a moments further consideration, knowing that such things 
are utterly impossible unless there are willingness and consent on 
both sides. But Morris Chapin’s daughter was afraid of the 
motive behind that sudden announcement. She knew the iron de- 
termination of the man; she knew his keen business spirit, his 
shrewdness. She knew that some great scheme lay hidden here. 
And the strain of obstinacy, of cold stubbornness she had inherited 
from him, rose up in arms. There was no indeterminate vacilla- 


WHAT MARJORIE BID, 


tion; there was no possibility of even considering the matter. To 
marry the son of the woman who had caused Aunt Mercedes 
such misery ! A man who was not even a Catholic in all prob- 
ability. ... 

No. She would see her father. She could not fight anything 
in the dark. She would face it openly, and let him understand 
that he had gone too far. 

I am coming back/^ she said to Catalina. I will stay here 
to-night — and give you a chance to rest. If Aunt Mercedes wakes 
and calls for me, tell her that I shall not be an hour away — ^that I 
shall return at once.^’ 

So many, many changes had come into her life passing to and 
from this little house of Aunt Mercedes to her father^s more sub- 
stantial and luxurious dwelling ! So many ideas had woven them- 
selves into her brain walking along the silent streets; so many 
resolves had found entrance into her heart ! She had walked from 
childhood to womanhood in these short journeys. It was no child 
who entered the house now, pale, grave-eyed, with soft mouth set 
into lines of gravity. 

Bring some dinner upstairs, Sallie,^^ she said. I am going 
right back to my aunt’s and I am hungry. I will not wait until 
half past seven. My father is in his room ? ” 

Yes, miss.” 

There is no one with him ? ” 

^^Not now. There was, but the gentleman left a half hour 
ago.” 

Thank you.” 

Her father badei her enter. He was seated at his desk, su- 
preme satisfaction on his face, looking with eyes of admiration at 
a photograph he held in his hand. He glanced up at Marjorie, 
smiling. 


WHAT MARJORIE DID. 


83 


I am glad you came in/^ he said. I have something to say 
to you. Don^t you want to get your things off ? We can talk more 
comfortably — 

^^Aunt Mercedes is dying/^ said Marjorie, abruptly. 

So ? His eyes narrowed. Her tone was unusual — it had a 
strange note in it. Well ? 

I am going back again — so I will not remove my things. I 
had no right to leave at all. But I could not rest until I had 
seen you, and seen you alone.^^ 

Yes,^^ he answered. You would like an explanation, doubt- 
less ? 

She flung her hand out, with an expression of disdain. 

Explanation ? she asked. There can be no explanation. 
You are my father — ^but to-day — To-day you forfeited your 
rights as such. I am no child, no baby. You have insulted me. 
You have thrown aside every bit of regard for my womanly feel- 
ings ; simply held me up as an article to be disposed of to whom- 
soever you chose to sell. 'And I am not in the market.^^ 

He looked at his finger-nails thoughtfully. Marjorie at that 
moment was very beautiful — and her father suddenly realized it. 
He had expected opposition — as a matter of course. But it would 
not last. 

Your Aunt Mercedes has evidently been giving you some in- 
teresting information — 

My Aunt Mercedes needs all her time now to prepare to meet 
God,^^ said Marjorie. She has been telling me nothing that 
would affect my decision. Have you no shame to thrust your 
daughter on a man who probably does not want her? Why, you 
should give me some regard ; you should consider me. I am not 
a bit of furniture whieh you have picked up; an interesting pic- 
ture; or even one of those vases you have in the next room of 


84 


WHAT MARJORIE BID. 


which you boast so much. I am a human being, mistress of my 
own actions, ruler of my own destiny — after the God who made 
me. And as such I must ask you to regard me. From this very 
moment. You will tell Warren Armitage that you have with- 
drawn your consent to this marriage, because your daughter, 
when she marries, chooses to select her own husband. That is 
all.^^ 

She turned on her heel. At the door her fathers voice arrested 

her. 

^^One moment, Marjorie,^^ he said. Just one moment.^^ 
With her hand on the knob she paused. 

You must listen to me,^^ he said. Marjorie, I can not tell 
Warren Armitage that.'^^ 

She smiled coldly. 

Can not is a poor word. I can.^^ 

But you will not.'’^ 

I shall. You are outside your rights in this matter. You 
know it, father.^^ 

I know it . . . Come here . . . Marjorie, I . . . 
Marjorie, you must marry Warren Armitage. He demands it.^^ 
Her hand fell from the knob. She turned her startled face 
upon him — then came back to where he sat, looking down at him. 

Demands ? He has never seen me, father, before to-day.'^ 

He has seen you, girl. He loves you — 

Again she smiled. Don’t ! Don’t put it that way. It is not 
true. There is some other reason.” 

He says he loves you.” 

Saying and feeling are two entirely different things. Why 
does he ask that I marry him ? ” 

Because you can help him build up Armitage.” 

How?” 


y/HAT MARJORIE DID. 


85 


With the dowry that I will give you/^ 

^^And you consented — What is it, father? Tell me the 
truth. CanT you see that you are torturing me ? What does this 
mean ? Wliy do you say . . 

I only say that you must marry him — ^that you must marry 
him — to save me.^’ 

He had a shrewd and crafty brain, this man. He would try it. 
. . . It had been tried before. . . . After all, it was but 
her notion. One husband would do as well as another, and he 
could not see his cherished ambition slip through his fingers. 

He has me in his power, and he can send me to State prison, 
he went on, in his cool, precise, measured accents, every word fall- 
ing like a hammer on her heart. And he will do it, too, if you 
refuse.^^ 

I do not understand,’^ she said, blankly. 

And I can not tell you any more. Do as you think best in 
the matter now.” He looked at her with a strange light in his 
eyes. ^^That is for your decision, Marjorie, and you can do as 
you please in regard to it.” 

^^But you mean that you have done something wrong — that 
this man — What does he want ? ” 

You.” 

Don’t, father. That is impossible.” 

But it is true.” 

^^He wants the dowry you will give me? That is what you 
said. Give it to him — leave me penniless, but leave me free. Make 
him that proposition, father. Or let me see him. It is madden- 
ing. I can not understand — ” 

You can see him if you will. You can say what you wish to 
him.” Morris Chapin spoke almost hopelessly. ^^When he dis- 
covers your antipathy it will probably settle all — everything. Ho, 


86 


WHAT MARJORIE DID, 


Marjorie, it is too much to ask. I see it now. I shall let the worst 
come — 

But, father, surely there is another way. You can make it 
•worth his while — You are so careful, so keen — I can not under- 
stand where you have done wrong. What is it ? 

Merely forgery — ^that is all. Of some ten years’ standing. 
But he knows it. It will ruin my business career. Never mind. 
We won’t talk of it, Marjorie.” 

Yery well, father.” Again she went to the door. 

I shall tell him to-morrow, then, that you will not consider 
the marriage.” 

Yes, father.” 

All right, dear. The matter is settled, then, that way. If 
you are going back to Aunt Mercedes better take J ames with you. 
And bring some of that old port — she always liked that. She is 
not really so bad, Marjorie?” 

^^Yes, father,” she answered, touched by this evidence of 
thoughtfulness — unusual thoughtfulness — on his part. She hesi- 
tated — then with a little impulsive movement went toward him 
again, and put her arms about his neck. You’re not angry, 
father? You understand that I can’t do this thing — ^that it is — 

I understand.” He patted her hand gently. I’ve not been 
an over-affectionate father, maybe, Marjorie, but I’ve tried to be 
just. You’ll remember that in case anything happens?” 

Oh, the man must have a price, surely, father. Ask him to — ” 
He shook his head. 

It is useless, Marjorie. I have tried everything. Don’t you 
think I would try everything before asking 3^ou to — Go on, little 
girl — and do not let this worry you. There is another way — 
but a man loves his life too well — Still, death is better than dis- 
grace. At the last moment — I can manage.” 


WHAT MARJORIE DID. 


87 


I^m afraid I — What do you mean, father ? I don^t under- 
stand/^ 

Don^t try to, Marjorie. And do not be afraid. I shall never 
go to prison.^^ 

She shuddered violently at the words, for they struck her with . 
new meaning. She looked at him, fearfully, and drew her arms 
from about him. As she turned away this time all the sparkling 
beauty that indignation had kindled in her face left it. It had 
grown gray and harsh. What did he mean? 

Perhaps, father — Wait until to-morrow. Maybe we can 
talk it over once more,^^ she said. 

She did not see the light that flashed into her fathers eyes. 
That she was deeply religious, he knew. But that she would have 
responded so quickly to the inference contained in his last words 
surprised him. He did not answer her. And she could not go 
until she had assured herself that he had understood. 

You heard me, father ? 

Ho,^^ he said, rousing himself. You said — 

That we would talk it over to-morrow — if you will wait.^^ 

Oh ! He turned his face toward her. You mean that 
you will try to consider it, Marjorie? 

— donT know,^^ she said, in a bewildered voice. — 
really — I — I can’t seem to get it clear, father. To-morrow when 
Aunt Mercedes is better, maybe. You’ll wait, father — please — 

Her hands were cold and she was shaking with nervousness — 
anxious to escape, anxious for a reprieve. And yet not daring to 
promise. She could not promise that. 

^^Very well,” he made answer. ^^That will do, then. To- 
morrow you and I can sift the matter thoroughly — 

We may And something else — another way — with sudden 
hopefulness. 


88 


WHAT MARJORIE DID. 


There are two ways/^ he said; ^^your way^ Marjorie^ and 
my way. One or the other. Perhaps my way will be the better, 
after all.^’ 

Oh, no, father — I am sure not. But you will wait — ^you will 
surely wait until to-morrow — 

Until to-morrow.^^ 

You promise me? 

promise you. Why are you so eager? What difference 
does it make ? 

When Mercedes Estrada awoke, she found Marjorie sitting 
beside her on a low chair, as if she had never left the room. 

^^You have stayed^ then, Marjorie ?^^ 

^^Yes, dear aunt.^^ 

must tell you while I can. I have written out the story 
of the past for you — fearing that the end might come suddenly, 
or that something might happen. You will find it in the corner 
of that desk. There is a little money there, too. N’ot very much— ^ 
but a little. I have deeded the house to Catalina. And, Mar- 
jorie — 

Yes, aunt?^^ ' 

want you to understand that you have my love and my 
blessing. You have been a faithful daughter to me, more faithful 
than I deserved. Forgive me if I have been harsh to you or if I 
have seemed not to care — 

That was forgiven long ago, dear aunt.^^ 

Go to the desk and take out the money and the packet. I 
must be sure you have both.’^ 

Marjorie rose obediently, coming back with the sealed envelope 
and some crisp bank notes. 

^^Put them away,^^ said Aunt Mercedes. There — ^in your 


WHAT MARJORIE DID. 


89 


gown. Pin them in. Do not lose them, Marjorie. And when you 
read what I have written. ... I will not have to ask you to 
do as I request if ever opportunity comes.^^ 

No, aunt. Marjorie spoke, moved apathetically — ^but she 
looked at the bank notes almost greedily. With these she could 
put distance between her and the fate she dreaded; in a few short 
hours she could get away. But following close upon this came the 
sentence : 

There are two ways — ^your way and my way.^^ 

Her father^s way! She shuddered. What was to prevent a 
man who lived as her father did from taking his own life ? And«no 
matter where she went, or what became of her, could she, his 
daughter, ever rest again, if she did not do everything in her 
power to prevent that awful happening? 

Torn between dread and sorrow, Marjorie Chapin knelt with 
clasped hands at her dying aunt^s bedside. Dread for that future 
— that unknown future ; and sorrow for the passing of the soul of 
the only one in all the world who had ever been kind to her. 
Heartfelt prayers fell from her lips — prayers that came from the 
depths of her troubled, sorely-harassed heart. Tears coursed down 
her cheeks — tears that did not ease the fear or the pain in her 
breast. For she felt that her hands were tied. All arguments 
were of no avail contrasted to the horror of the fear implanted in 
her soul by her fathers last words. 

And he, sitting there after his daughter left him, picked up the 
photograph lying on his desk. It showed a wonderful old house 
set in the midst of trees, with mountains in the distance — and 
yet not worth the price he was so eager to give for it. He looked 
at it with satisfaction. 

knew I should find the way — ^before they found it. The 
secret of Armitage is mine, and mine shall be the profit. It shall 


90 


WHAT MARJORIE DID. 


yield its secret to no other, that I have sworn. I see my way clear 
now. Yes, my proud lady, if you but knew what lies hidden so 
close to you, how you would exult ! And you, Mr. Warren, with 
your haughty airs and your pride as great as your mother’s very 
own— You would not consider taking Marjorie Chapin for a wife 
if you knew what I know. ’Twill be a sweet revenge — and it will 
be—” 

He finished the sentence under his breath, chuckling. 


THE ONE WHO WAS SILENT, 


91 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE ONE WHO WAS SILENT. 

Aunt Mercedes died at midnight. 

In the morning Morris Chapin drove to the house in Esplanade 
Row, and took his pale-faced, shaken, tired little daughter home. 
He was very kind and attentive to her, and after making her 
promise that she would go to rest at once, he said that he 
would see to all the details connected with Mercedes Estrada^s 
funeral. 

If you like, Marjorie, she can be buried from here.^^ 

No, father,^^ said Marjorie, very quietly. She would prefer 
to remain in her own home, I know. She chose it to live in, and 
I imagine she^d rather stay there until — 

She choked a little. 

It shall be as you wish,^^ said Morris Chapin. And — Mar- 

jorie— 

^^Yes, father 

Do not let the thought of what occurred yesterday annoy 
you. I have been considering things all night — and I see the 
possibilities attached to this marriage. It is too much to expect. 
I will not expect it — I do not want it. So put it out of your head, 
Marjorie.^^ 

A gleam of interest shot into her pale face. 

You mean that you can make him — 

You must not ask any questions now. You are too tired. 
It will be better to wait until you have had a rest.^^ 


92 


THE ONE WHO WAS SILENT. 


Before I go, tell me this. Has anything come up — anything 
that would change matters — anything that would help — youV^ 
She spoke the last word whisperingly, almost afraid of the reply. 
He shook his head. 

N’o/^ he said. N’othing. But that need not disturb us, 
Marjorie, now. In the end — 

I think I prefer the marriage,^^ said the girl. In facV^ and 
she shuddered a little. In fact, I do not positively dislike it — 

You are a dear, good child,^^ said the father. I shall re- 
pay you in the end, Marjorie.’^ 

And he meant it. He would repay her — in money and what 
money could bring. But the wealth of a heart — could he restore 
that? 

We will not discuss that part, father. She paused, then 
turned to go — but looked over her shoulder to ask the question 
troubling her. Mr. — Mr. Armitage^ — ^when will he come ? He 
will want to see me.^^ 

I suppose so,^^ said the father, dubiously. You will be 
careful, Marjorie — 

Oh, yes,^^ she said, and she smiled. I will be very careful.^^ 

It was surprising that one unused to strong emotions should 
bear this with such coldness and equanimity. But her senses were 
numbed by her bereavement — and she could look upon the pro- 
jected marriage without feeling — she was not capable of feeling. 

Some impression of this sort pierced through Warren Armi- 
tage^s armor of indifference, when, on calling that afternoon, he 
found his bride-to-be alone in the parlor. She greeted him 
apathetically, even extended her hand to him, which he held for 
a moment, looking at her. 

^^You are satisfied he asked, abruptly. You know just 
how matters stand between us ? And you are satisfied ? 


THE ONE WHO WAS SILENT, 


93 


Yes/^ she said, bending her head; I am satisfied/^ 

I am not Dean, yon know,^^ he said again. But I shall do 
my best to make yon a good hnsband — I shall, really. There is 
no one else whom yon care for? Yon will assnre me of that 
mnch — ^that there is no one else whom yon could care for ? 

He desired to be honest, as far as snch a man^s honesty went. 
Yot a bad man, npright, if anything, bnt not given to the weigh- 
ing of fine qnestions. And in his heart he thonght that Marjorie 
Chapin was getting the best of this bargain — ^mnch the best. 

I am a Catholic,^^ said Marjorie, in a low voice. Has my 
father told yon that ? 

^^Yon are Mercedes Estrada^s niece — I knew yon were a 
Catholic — and I am one,^^ said Armitage. ^^Yon have not an- 
swered my qnestion.^^ 

Oh — abont — Ho; there is not anybody 
I shonld not like yon to feel that there was any compnlsion 
in this matter,^’ he went on, slowly. Yon know how things 
stand — yonr father has told yon. It is natnral, I snppose, for a 
girl of yonr age to feel some repngnance, even if there is no senti- 
ment involved. If that is so, or if yonr father has made any mis- 
representations — 

My father has not misrepresented,^^ said Marjorie, in cold 
tones. And I am indifferent. Yon will be satisfied that I can 
not care for yon in the way a girl is snpposed to care for the man 
she marries? Yon will not expect too mnch?^^ 

He marveled at her self-possession. It was worthy that man’s 
danghter. 

shall expect nothing.” He might have added, for I shall 
give little,” bnt he did not. At least he had some semblance of 
courtesy. Will yon set a date now, for the ceremony — ” 

Let my father do so for me,” said the girl. At present — ” 


94 


THE ONE WHO WAS SILENT. 


She bent her face close to the fire. At present I am in no state 
to bother with it. My Aunt Mercedes is dead.’^. 

Dead ! said Warren Armitage. The information shocked 

him. 

She was a mother to me, always/^ said Marjorie. You will 
understand that I can not be particularly cheerful — 

understand/^ he said kindly — more kindly than he had 
spoken since he entered the room. She was, as you know, a 
member of our family — 

I know,^^ said Marjorie. 

She will be buried as my Uncle Malcolm’s wife? As 'Mrs. 
Malcolm Armitage ? ” 

She repudiated the name in life — and it was her special 
desire to keep her own name now. In death she will be Mercedes 
Estrada still.” 

He looked at her keenly. He could not tell what sentiments 
lay hidden behind that cold face, that passionless voice. 

^^You are her partisan?” 

As all must have been who knew her.” 

You are prejudiced.” 

Ho ; I am not prejudiced.” 

He shrugged his shoulders indifferently. We will not quarrel 
over this topic, I hope — it might not be a pleasant one.” 

I never quarrel,” said Marjorie. 

Ah, then we’re at unity there,” said Warren Armitage, and 
on pleasanter ground. I, also, avoid quarreling. I think we shall 
get along.” 

^^Yes,” said Marjorie. ^^We shall get along.” 

^ ^ :{c ^ 

The young Mrs. Armitage had been four weeks married, and 
installed in the cottage which her husband had furnished for her. 


THE ONE WHO WAS SILENT. 


95 


They left Boston^ going to New York City, where Warren Armi- 
tage found a pretty little house in one of the suburbs. He was 
a very busy man just then, as the firm with which he was engaged 
had large contracts on their hands, so that Marjorie was left much 
alone. At first her husband was inclined to treat her with a cer- 
tain amount of friendliness, but gradually this wore away, leav- 
ing nothing but the bare coldness of strangers underneath. It 
was an existence fairly horrible, had either cared to realize it. 

He was better than the average man, this Yfarren Armitage, 
but with an unbending pride as pronounced as his brother’s care- 
lessness. He had been brought up, as far as home-training was 
concerned, in absolute indifference toward God ; had been baptized 
a Catholic, had even, owing to his Uncle Malcolm’s influence, re- 
ceived his first communion and been confirmed. What Malcolm 
Armitage — saddened, softened by the wreck he had made of his 
own life — might have done for this boy’s soul, belongs to the realm 
of speculation — for he died shortly afterward, leaving Armitage 
and all it contained to his nephew, Warren, unconditionally, to 
do with as he pleased. 

The boy’s mother was too ambitious, too selfish, and too un- 
scrupulous to let such a subject as the duties of a creature toward 
its Maker interfere with her plans or her daily conduct. He was 
honest, this Warren Armitage. He had loved Sybil Ayrton, as he 
thought — but always with that doubt, that uncertainty of her af- 
fection, which some women like to inspire. Even when she prom- 
ised to wait for him, he could only tell himself to hope, with the 
feeling that if the fates were kind she would indeed be his. 

The fates had not been kind ; and close upon the heels of this 
disappointment came Dean’s tale of weakness and misery. Some 
well-balanced natures, at critical moments, are prone to cast rea- 
son to the winds, disgusted with it. Warren Armitage had done 


96 


THE ONE WHO WAS SILENT, 


SO when he offered to take his brother's place. His pride, also, 
had risen up in arms. To have the girl who had jilted him thank 
her lucky stars, when Dean’s disgrace became known, that she 
had avoided connection with such a family — ^that was one potent 
argument. And another was the desire to show her that her 
refusal had not affected him as much as she probably had imag- 
ined it would. You will find some one to care for you more than 
I ever can,’’ she had written. Well, he had found some one to 
take her place in his home, easily enough, and to bear his name. 

And, in time, had Marjorie’s manner been natural; had she 
been happy; had she been able to show this man what an honest 
and true heart hers was ; how pure her soul ; how sweet her disposi- 
tion; had the marriage been anything but the forced union her 
father had made of it, he would have been attracted to her, learned 
to depend upon her, and to love her with such affection as he had 
never given the girl whose beauty had so bewitched, and whose 
frivolity had so wounded him. 

I shall do my very best to be good to you,” he said, on their 
wedding-morn, touched by the whiteness of her face, and the 
sadness of her whole expression. He thought that her heart was 
still sore for the aunt she mourned. And Marjorie had smiled, 
wearily, with a Thank you,” that was so cold that it sounded 
like sarcasm. 

It was not that. It was indifference. Through it all, that 
had been her only feeling. She was like a girl in a dream. She 
had no one to help prepare her for this event, save one or two of 
the older servants who had been with the Chapins since her child- 
hood, and she left her father’s house still in that torpor which 
precluded all rebellious sentiments. She accepted everything 
that occurred with a placidity that surprised Morris Chapin — even 
he who had always seen her gentle and calm and easily controlled. 


THE ONE WHO WAS SILENT, 


97 


After a little Warren Armitage became aware of one fact — 
that whether he was present or absent it made no difference to 
Marjorie. She never asked him questions ; she never entered into 
any argument. He found himself wondering at this calm, and 
then annoyed a little. After that, not caring, not knowing her, he 
subsided into a curt gravity — which Marjorie was not even thank- 
ful for, not noticing it. 

One evening, at the end of their first month of married life, he 
came home earlier than usual. She was seated in the parlor, a book 
lying upon her lap, her face turned toward the window. Something 
about the attitude struck him as being familiar — and then he re- 
membered that she was always in this chair, seated thus, when he 
entered the room. He stood looking at her for a while.. She was 
not aware of his presence, but he leaned against the frame of the 
door, siudying the figure of the v/oman who was his wife. 

It was very thin, almost painfully so — her extreme delicacy 
had struck him when he first saw her. Her hair was shining in 
the sunlight now, and her eyes looked very large and very dark — 
he could just see their outlines from where he stood. There 
was no tinge of color in her face. 

Are you not feeling well ? he asked, abruptly, from his post 
at the door. 

Without a tremor of surprise she turned her head toward him. 

I am very well, indeed, thank you,^^ she said. Why do you 
ask?^^ 

It struck me that you were pale.^^ 

I ? Oh, I am always pale.^^ 

You look as if you were unhappy. Are you unhappy ? 

Ho,^’ she answered. 

He walked across the floor, took a chair, and seated himself 
deliberately in front of her. 


98 


THE ONE WHO WAS SILENT, 


^^Are you happy he asked. 

Marjorie lifted those grave blue eyes to his face. She looked at 
him^ at the lips that had asked the question^ at the stern coun- 
tenance. A little smile curved her mouth, and her gaze drifted 
away from him, back to the window, to the clouds that wandered 
across the blue, evanescent as her own fleeting smile. 

^^You are not unhappy — you are not happy — He leaned 
toward her and took her hand in his roughly. It was not in the 
nature of an}^ man to be content with this chilling demeanor. 

Why, Marjorie? What is the matter with you? 

Hothing,^^ she answered, very quietly. There is nothing 
the matter with me.’^ 

Is there nothing that can make a human being out of you ? 
he went on, and there was bitterness in his voice. Where am I 
deflcient — ’’ 

^^You?^^ said Marjorie. She lifted a puzzled face to his. 

You? I do not understand.^^ 

He dropped her Angers from his warm clasp at once. She 
was acting — this indifference, this coldness, must be assumed. 
And for what reason? Why should the daughter of Morris 
Chapin act — 

We are a month married,’^ he said, haughtily. One month 
to-day. Your father is probably anxious that the condition be 
fulfilled — and that I take you to Armitage. I have written to 
my mother that she may expect us in a very short while, and I am 
making arrangements with the Arm to get away. I hope you will 
enjoy California.^’ 

Is it necessary — ^that I should go ? ” asked Marjorie, in her 
passionless voice. 

Her husband laughed. 

Ycg, I want you to see Armitage, You are its mistress now, 


THE ONE WHO WAS SILENT. 


99 


since I am master. Does not the prospect please yon ? Or haven^t 
yon any idea of its brilliancy ? 

The mocking tone, the half-veiled sarcasm, were not lost on 
the girl. Again she frowned in that pnzzled way, bringing her 
glance to meet his. 

The prospect ? she said, vagnely. 

Oh, this is sickening ! he exclaimed, rising. Positively 
sickening ! Pretty soon yon will tell me that yon did not marry 
me to carry ont yonr cherished father’s plans ! Pretty soon yon 
will tell me that yon, also, were not anxions to avenge yonr Annt 
Mercedes by stepping into my mother’s place. She will take it 
hard enongh to please even yonr father’s danghter. And it is of 
that I wish to speak to yon.” 

He strode rapidly np and down the room. 

will not say my mother is lovable,” he began. ^^And I 
know one thing — that nothing on earth conld excnse my marriage 
to one of Mercedes Estrada’s relatives bnt the fact that I was 
saving my brother from disgrace — my brother, and her darling, for 
Dean was always that. Bnt she is my mother, nevertheless, and I 
wonld ask yon to respect her as snch — ” 

He pansed. Marjorie had risen to her feet. The book fell to 
the floor. She pnt np her hands — one at her throat to control its 
beating, the other to her forehead. Her eyes had grown even 
larger; her face, pale enongh before, was now like that of a 
corpse. 

beg of yon,” she said, in a mnffled voice. ^^Yon were 
saying—” 

She began to langh, and then to shiver. 

Oh ! I thonght yon were speaking to me. Yon said some- 
thing — Yon were saying — ” 

Her hnsband conld only stare at her. 


IcfC. 


100 


THE ONE WHO WAS SILENT, 


You made me so afraid ! said Marjorie. Very much 
afraid. Your brother — 

My brother^ yes/^ he said^ impatiently. The brother whom 
your father had intended you to marry right along^ and whose 
place I took — What is it — What is the matter ? 

I donT know/’ she said. You are — My hands are shak- 
ing. I must be nervous. Oh ! do not mind mxO. I am interested — 
oh, so interested ! Won’t you go on? See, I am quite calm now — 
quite calm. I will sit down here — and you can tell me all about 
it—” 

A suspicion seemed to cross his mind suddenly. 

Good God! You don’t mean to say — Yo; that is im- 
possible ! And I asked you — I distinctly asked you — ISTo man 
could do that to his only child! But Dean said — Marjorie, 
Marjorie, in the name of God, look at me. You haven’t been 
tricked into this thing — you haven’t been forced into marriage 
with me — It isn’t possible ! It couldn’t happen ! Answer me ! 
answer me ! ” 

He shook her impatiently. The girl was bewildered, dazed, 
terror-stricken. One thing she was vainly endeavoring to grasp 
— her father’s position in this matter. Her first instinctive feel- 
ing was to protect him — his life was in her keeping — his veiled 
words, which she had taken as he had meant her to take them — 
as a threat of suicide — ^had filled her soul with horror. She 
shrank from her husband, swaying to and fro, resolving, with 
fear clutching at her heart, that she must not tell him anything — 
that until she could find out all herself, she must be silent, silent 
— silent for the sake of that man — ^that wicked man, that pitiably 
weak man who was her father — 

Ho one could tell the struggle rending her as she stood so, 
least of all her husband. He kept staring at her, fascinated. This 


THE ONE WHO WAS SILENT. 


101 


emotion was genuine. He could not understand what prompted it. 
He only knew that she seemed little, and fragile, and babyish, 
and that he was sorry. His pity made him tender. He went 
closer to her, and put his arm around her. 

Marjorie,^^ he said, huskily. Marjorie, what is it? You 
are that man's daughter, I know. But you are the niece of 
Mercedes Estrada, and she, from all I have heard, was a fair and 
honest enemy. Marjorie, what mystery is there in this thing? 
Speak ! " 

If she had only listened then; if she had gone to him, telling 
him the story that was coursing madly through her brain at that 
moment; if she could have permitted him an insight into the 
depths of self-sacrifice of which she was capable, things would 
have been well with. her. But fear had overwhelmed her — fear — 
she was afraid — afraid to listen ; afraid not to listen ; afraid of the 
great wrong that had been done — the great wrong she herself had 
been party to ; she was afraid for that man who had told her the 
tale he did — and left the outcome of it to her imagination. She 
shrank from her husband, pushing, almost beating, away his arms. 
She was desperate — and though much shaken, a woman driven to 
the wall, such a woman as Marjorie, can exert a certain amount 
of control over herself. And so she turned a partly composed 
face toward him once more, and smiled — faintly, it is true, but 
still it showed a self-possession that angered him. He walked 
away. It was her place to speak — not his. And if she would not, 
well — 


102 


IN MANY MOOD^. 


CHAPTER X. 

m MANY MOODS. 

And now began^ for Marjorie Armitage, an experience which 
very few women have, luckily. 

She had, indeed, been in a dream-world this past few weeks. 
When her father had bidden her good-by, she had lifted her face 
to his as he bent to kiss her. 

Is it all right now, father? she asked him. You are sure 
it is all right now ? 

^^Yes,^^ he answered. He had been flushed with gratifleation 
that whole day — it struck her now unpleasantly. Matters are 
settled, Marjorie. You have lifted a heavy burden from my 
shoulders.'’^ 

That satisfied her. It might have satisfied any other girl of 
twenty — ^but in another girl there would have been, allied to this 
satisfaction, a deep distrust and dislike of the husband who had 
won her in such an unfair manner. Marjorie had been too long 
used to balancing reasons in her own grave head; she placed 
herself in Warren Armitage^s position, and even tried to make 
excuses for him. She was content that he asked nothing from 
her; was cold of manner and distant; that he only occasionally 
entered a room when she was in it. All this was something to be 
grateful for, and by reason of it she almost enjoyed that easy, 
listless, dreamy, non-combative state in which she found herself. 

But his words now had thoroughly roused her. 


IN MANY MOODS, 


103 


Oh, if it were true, what a great wrong she had done this man, 
she thought, groping, in bewildered fashion, after the thread in 
the labyrinth of doubt that encompassed her. What a dreadful 
thing — and how he must hate her, how he must hate her ! The 
necessity of even being courteous to him had never struck her be- 
fore, since he had forced her to this step. But if it were true that 
her father had made him a victim — 

One question she ventured, timidly, two days later. It was an 
unfortunate question. 

If it so happens that we go to Armitage,^’ she said, you 
will have it fixed up while we are there ? 

I have not the means,^^ he answered, coldly. 

^^But my father — he said — My father has a great deal of 
money.^^ 

He can keep it,^^ said her husband, in a crisp voice. He 
sha^nT put any money into Armitage.^^ And he added, with grim 
mouth, He^s put his daughter there — that^s sufficient.^’ 

Marjorie shrank as from a blow — but he was not looking at 
her, and if he had been — Well, what about the feelings of the 
daughter of Morris Chapin ? 

For fear that he may not have informed you of the fact, I 
paid him five thousand dollars of Dean’s debts tho morning before 
we were married. It will take Dean himself a good many years 
to pay off the rest, but he and Marion seem willing to make 
sacrifices.” 

^^Who is Marion?” asked Marjorie, more timidly still. 

Again her husband looked at her, suspicion in his glance. 

Marion is the girl who made your marriage to Dean im- 
possible,” he said. They had been married three years when 
your father came out with his proposition — you and so-and-so 
much for Armitage. He expected to buy me off! It is a pity 


104 


IN MANY MOODS. 


Dean was married — he would have seen how much of the Chapin 
money could buy Warren Armitage — 

He paused^ from the simple fact that Marjorie had risen and 
left the room. She saw now. She realized, partially, how she 
had been led into this. What advantage had it been to so ruin 
her life — ^to ruin this man’s life, who was bound to her? She 
almost regretted that he was of her faith. 

If he were not a Catholic I could leave him,” she moaned. 

And by-and-by he could secure a divorce and remarry. But no. 
For him and for me it is forever.” 

A great sorrow entered her heart for him. She could never 
atone for the wrong she had done him, and she was sure she could 
never tell him how unconsciously she had committed that wrong. 
She dared not let him know how low her father had fallen — and 
if he went to that father and upbraided him, who knew what the 
consequences might be ? 

She would buy peace at the greatest price in the world — ^her 
silence. 

And now began a time of agony. She shrank at the sound of 
her husband’s voice. His step frightened her. If he came into 
the room she was uncomfortable until he left it. And yet, withal, 
he noticed, in spite of himself, that his surroundings becam.e 
pleasanter. If he expressed the slightest wish it was fulfilled. He 
marveled at it. One night, to try her, he said aloud that he would 
like to hear a certain song by Tosti that he had always admired. 
He found it on the piano a few days later. Yet she did not offer 
to play or to sing it. 

Will you go over it for me ? ” he asked, carelessly, watching 
her meanwhile. She flushed and her mouth trembled, but she 
went to the piano at once. She had a sweet little touch, and her 
voice was suited to the infinitely pathetic music. 


IN MANY MOODS. 


105 


Do not sing any more/^ he said, when she had finished the 
first verse. It is too sad.^^ 

She stopped playing then. After a while she rose from the 
stool and moved toward the door. It — it was one of Aunt 
Mercedes’ favorites,” she said, in a low voice. 

^^Yes,” he answered, briefi}^ He had heard many tales of 
Aunt Mercedes’ likes and dislikes. Her name had never been 
allowed to rest, since he could remember. 

And he marveled once m.ore. 

received a letter from my mother to-day,” he said; re- 
ceived it this morning. I have been wondering whether L should 
let you read it or not. It is very bitter — but you know the circum- 
stances.” 

Yes,” said Marjorie. 

She is hardly to be blamed for her anger — since we have 
both disappointed her,” he went on. She expected Dean to 
marry brilliantly. And^ of course — well, there was some one else 
she would have preferred — for me.” 

Marjorie drew back, stung. 

There was some one else ? ” she said. You mean you gave 
up some one else — some one you loved — ^to — ” 

^^And if I did?” he asked. 

Then you are contemptible,” she answered. 

He threw his head back, laughing. He had not expected this ‘ 
from such a patient, quiet creature. 

That is very good — very good, indeed,” he said. But I am 
not contemptible. She jilted me — plainly and unequivocally 
jilted me.” 

She — she will not think you mourned her very long.” 

She will know I did not, thank heaven ! ” he answered 
fervently. Marjorie straightened up. She had been dreamy, list- 


106 


IN MANY MOODS, 


less, indifferent. She had been sorrowful, anxious to atone, timor- 
ous, almost pleading. N'ow her eyes had a glint of fire in their 
depths. 

You lost nothing by your marriage, then ? she said. 

No,^^ he confessed. That thought had not struck him be- 
fore. ISTo ; I lost nothing.’^ 

A smile touched her lips. 

It was not so dreadful, after all — Ah, well ! You will let 
me see your letter ? 

Yes, if you wish. But it may wound you.^^ 

Thank you — I am not very thin-skinned.^’ 

He handed her the letter, and as he did so, turned half-way 
in his chair, so that, unseen, he could watch her face. It was a 
cruel letter to give Marjorie. 

Your brother Dean could have done better in California,” it 
began, abruptly. I am shocked and grieved at the unfortunate 
step he has taken. Dean, above all others! I never expected 
much from you, but that he should be so foolish. I can not under- 
stand it. 

I am sorry I have but two sons. I wish I had a third. For 
if Dean has done poorly, you have been an idiot — and think how 
the third could outdo you both in folly! I shall never forgive 
you, Warren, for putting such a humiliation as this on me. I 
know Armitage is yours — but I had rather you sold every acre of 
it than bring the niece of that Estrada woman to this place. You 
say you are coming to visit me. The Barings are here, and I 
expect Mr. and Mrs. Hatch next week, also Senator Trumbull, 
who has been promising so long — maybe his niece as well, whom 
you should remember. I shall not and I will not have that crea- 
ture here as your wife — to supersede me. Unless, indeed, she is 
willing to come as Miss Chapin, and a guest at Armitage Hall ; and 


IN MANY MOODS. 


107 


there isn’t any possibility of her consenting to that — I know the 
Estrada breed. 

No words can tell yon how utterly disgusted I am. Dean’s 
wife is a haughty, miserably insolent creature, not half grateful 
enough to the Providence that gave her an Armitage for a hus- 
band. And you ! The pillar of sense ! Oh, it is dreadful, awful ! 

have been very ill since the news came, and for a time 
Dr. Yoss was in serious doubt as to whether I would recover or 
not. . . . 

What do you intend to do ? You can not give up your busi- 
ness to come here now ? My wishes ought to count for something 
— I am your mother, Warren. Why did you not give me at least 
the consideration of writing me before this wretched event took 
place ? I would have done anything, given up anything — I would 
have gone to Boston and forbidden it. It was all Mercedes Es- 
trada’s doings, I know. You write me she is dead. She was dead 
long ago, as I fondly imagined. But some people never die. She 
has left a trail of her poisonous nature after her, in the shape of 
my son’s wife.” 

Warren Armitage knew the selfishness of the heart that had 
prompted those lines. He had become accustomed to it. His 
mother had nothing of her own to give up; there was no means 
by which she could have prevented his marriage. Yet she was 
pleased to write in this absurd strain. The young man never took 
his eyes from his wife’s face. As she read the last lines her whole 
face fiushed with, the anger that they sent through her body. She 
looked up, clenching the letter in her hand, and met her husband’s 
glance. With an inarticulate cry she threw herself on the floor 
beside him. She was shaking. 

Oh, be honest, be fair — be fair to the dead,” she said. 

Leave me out of consideration — look at this letter and ask your- 


108 


IN MANY MOODS. 


self if it is an honest or true or fair letter ? I shall not say what 
I am, or what I shall try to be. I shall not say that you should 
permit me to make excuses for my conduct. But is that letter 
just? In your eyes, is that letter just ? 

He was moved at the passion in her face — at its sudden loveli- 
ness. 

N’o,^^ he said. It is not honest. It is not fair. It is not 
just. But remember how your aunt hated my mother. There was 
mutual antipathy.^^ 

My aunt did not hate her. She forgave her from the bottom 
of her heart. She died at peace with God and mankind.'’^ 

Who had the most to forgive, I wonder ? said her husband, 
musingly. 

The one who was the most bitterly wronged,^^ was the instant 
reply. Kemember this — ^that there is no hatred like that which 
springs from consciousness of wrong done to another human being. 
And if there were no evil conscience here,^^ she struck the letter 
with her palm, there would be no such words of venom. Mother 
or no mother, you shall live to see the day when she clears my Aunt 
Mercedes^ name. You shall see it, since God is a just God and 
over all His people.^^ 

Why, Marjorie,’^ said her husband. There is something 
that can move you, then. There are feeling and emotion beneath 
that passivity.’^ 

She rose to her feet, quiet and cold and proud again. 

Will you consent to my going to Armitage as Miss Chapin? 
she asked. I should like that.^^ 

What is your object ? he asked, curiously. 

I — can not tell you — ^now,^^ she answered. I should like to 
meet a woman — like that.^^ She pointed to the letter lying open 
on his knee. I should like to meet her — to know her.^^ 


m MAISIY MOODS, 


109 


^^Then I shall write and tell her we are coming. Yon will 
want to get ready/^ he asked. And yon wdll probably want to 
see yonr father before yon go — 

She grasped at the back of a chair, and held on to it, her fingers 
closing over it tightly. 

May I ask yon — Will yon think it strange if I ask yon — 
What?^^ 

I do not want to see my father.^^ 

Yon do not — want to see yonr father ? He was astonished. 

No. More than that, I wish yon wonld not tell him we are 
going.^^ Her face hardened, and her lips shnt together, tightly. 

I do not want to hear from him, not ever again.’^ 

Her hnsband stared at her now, nncomprehending. 

Hot hear from him, or see him ! He will say it is becanse 
of me that yon — 

She lifted her eyebrows, tnrning to look at him. 

^^Do yon care?^^ 

? Ho. Why shonld I care ? 

Then that is all. I do not want to see him, or to hear from 
him, and I do not want him to know we are going to Armitage. 
I shonld be very glad if yon wonld let me have my way in this 
matter — very glad.^^ 

It shall be as yon wish.^^ His voice had grown soft. Mar- 
jorie,^^ he said, getting np on his feet. Do yon think that things 
conld be different — 

Her body grew rigid. 

I respect yon,^^ she said. I do really respect yon, althongh 
I did not at first. Yon do not want me to lose that respect — 
now ? ” 

Ho,^^ he answered. 

Then do not a-^k anything bnt friendship from me. I can 


no 


IN MANY MOODS. 


give no more. And as yonr mother’s son/’ her eyes flashed de- 
fiance, as your mother’s son yon should ask for no more.” 

I shall leave that entirely in your hands,” he said. But I 
think even our friendship could be better if there were perfect 
confidence — 

I can not give you my confidence,” said Marjorie Armitage. 

And I do not expect yours. Remember that. I will give noth- 
ing. I expect nothing in return. Considering our marriage, con- 
sidering the tircumstances attending upon it, I think I am not 
unfair.” 


HER HUSBANHS MOTHER, 


111 


CHAPTER XI. 

HER HUSBAND^'S MOTHER. 

This is — Miss Chapin, mother.^^ 

There was no mincing matters. Marjorie Armitage smiled a 
little when her husband said the words with hesitation in his voice. 
The folly of this masquerade, the unheard-of demand of his 
mother, and the strange request of his wife, suddenly came to 
him when he spoke, and made him doubtful of the issue. 

In silence, Marjorie, very pale, very proud, raised her dark- 
blue eyes unflinchingly to the face of her husband’s mother. 

Stephanie Armitage was not pleasant to look at, though the 
casual observer would have called her well-preserved. It was her 
day to render an account for the envy of younger years; for lax 
principles ; for deceit and falsehood. The lines that character had 
imprinted on her countenance were not good ones. She was old 
now, and could not conceal the ravages of time. The eyes were 
cold and very bright, restless, moving from side to side with a 
quickness that denoted constant vigilance, sharpness, and curiosity ; 
the mouth was unpleasant in its closed lines ; the whole expression 
a disdain that was not likely to induce any one’s favor at first 
sight. There was cupidity as well, and avarice. Marjorie thought 
of the fine, patrician features of her Aunt Mercedes ; the delicate 
lips with the humorous curves ; the honest eyes ; the uncompromis- 
ing frankness. . . . 

Your room is ready,” said Mrs. Armitage. You have not 


112 


HER HUSBAND’S MOTHER. 


brought a maid^ of course. I shall call one of the servants to 
attend you. You will take your own rooms^ Warren? 

Yes, mother.^^ 

That was all. Marjorie stood, waiting^ while the older woman 
went to call the servant she spoke of. 

You are not doing right, Marjorie,^^ said her husband, in a 
low voice. I dislike this farce very much. Yo good will come 
of it.^^ 

You promised, said Marjorie. I hope you will keep your 
promise.'’^ 

On one condition.^^ 

^^4nd that?^^ 

Is when you need me you will call on me. I am willing to 
let you go your own way, do as you please, carry out your project 
• — which I know, I think — 

MTU you tell me what you think ? 

^^You want my mother to like you — for yourself 
A smile slowly crept across Mar j oriels lips. 

Why ? she asked. Her husband drew back, offended. 

Why ? I did not think of that. You have no motive to win 
my mother’s affection — since you and I do not care for each other. 
Yet, Marjorie?’’ 

Yes?” 

Do not antagonize her unnecessarily. She is not altogether 
blameless — I know her and am willing to admit it, were she ten 
times my mother. But still I am not utterly without some moral 
sense myself. We are married, you and I. It is the indissoluble 
Catholic marriage — and circumstances and time must bring us 
toleration of each other. After you have decided to give up the 
name you wish to assum.e for a while, and appear in your rightful 
character, most of your life will be spent here. Armitage is a 


HER HUSBARHS MOTHER, 


113 


big place — yon need rarely see my mother. Do not, therefore, 
break your spirit against her pride, which is great — and her sar- 
casm, which is greater.^^ 

Marjorie had listened with downbent head. A feeling of grati- 
tude stirred in her heart. After all, her father had done a mean 
and ignoble thing ; this man had taken her to save his name from 
disgrace ; taken her in a moment^s pique, perhaps. Yet she would 
not think of this last before the consideration of the other two. 
He had every reason to dislike her, every reason. He had every 
reason to despise her, believing her a party to her father^s mean- 
ness; yet here he stood, with grave face bent to hers, giving her 
such advice as this. Yes; she was certainly grateful — and she 
lifted that pale face with a sudden light in it. 

Thank you,’^ she said. I do thank you. I did not expect 
this — and I know that you give me so much kindness out of pit}^ — 
because I am alone here, or because you think it will be hard for 
me. Again I thank you. Do not worry about me. I am not 
going to try to win your mother’s favor or disfavor. May I trust 
you still further ? I am not likely to see much of you for the next 
few da3^s. My Aunt Mercedes was once mistress of Armitage — 
and she asked me to do something for her if ever it became pos- 
sible. She did not know, then, that I would marry an Armitage 
— nor did I. Providence has sent me here. The thing I contem- 
plate is no wrong to you or to your mother — will you believe 
that?” 

She spoke rapidly — it was the first time she had exhibited any- 
thing like confidence toward him. 

I will believe you, certainl}^” he said. What more he might 
have added was interrupted by his mother’s voice, speaking 
sharply to the trim little maid who followed close on her heels. 

Take Miss Chapin to her room, Martha,” she said. And 


114 


HER HUSBAND^S MOTHER. 


Warren, if you will come with me now? I have a few matters I 
should like to talk over with you/^ 

She was the stately mistress in every word and action. Mar- 
jorie felt this. The thought struck her, humorously, as she fol- 
lowed Martha, that she would make a poor substitute indeed for 
this self-possessed being. 

This was Mrs. Dean’s room — she left day before yesterday,” 
said the maid, volubly. Mrs. Dean Armitage — Mr. Warren’s 
brother’s wife.” 

Marjorie nodded. The room was off in the western wing, 
altogether away from the main portion of the house. She went 
to the window — leaning out to look at the view. She said noth- 
ing, but her eyes filled with tears. Afar off the mountains; the 
green foliage thick and dark against the crimson sky; jutting up 
almost at her feet the sharp spire of a tower. She knew that 
tower, set in its little silver lake. Had it not been described to 
her? She was standing in her Aunt Mercedes’ own room. 

Are you to wait on me ? ” she asked, after a little while. 

Ho, miss — Madam says that she 'will send Anne up — Anne is 
one of the old servants. Although if you prefer me, perhaps — ” 

Oh, no,” said Marjorie, turning from the window. Ho. 
It doesn’t really matter. Martha, your name is? Thank you. 
Will you send Anne to me, then, as soon as you go down- 
stairs ? ” 

Martha was bursting with curiosity, and would fain have 
stayed with the mysterious young stranger, who was evidently, 
from her manner, accustomed to the refinements of a luxurious 
home. Marjorie felt that she would rather have one of the older 
servants about her — one who had known Aunt Mercedes, per- 
haps, and who would tell her of that past which seemed so misty 
and so far away. When Anne came, a shrewd, bustling, clever 


HER HUSBAND^S MOTHER, 


116 


old woman, Marjorie was still standing at the window, lost in 
reverie. There was so much to dream about, so much to think 
about — here. 

Will you open that long box first, Anne — and lay out the 
gown you will find in it ? she said, without stirring from her 
position. At what hour is dinner ? 

At seven o’clock, miss.” The woman gave a curious glance 
toward the delicate figure, but did as she was bidden. 

Wlien Warren Armitage met his wife at dinner that evening 
he scarcely knew her. Her father had not been niggardly in pro- 
viding her trousseau, and Marjorie had been in too torpid a state 
to protest against any garment forced upon her. She had been 
grateful enough for this when she was leaving ISTew York. For 
it is to a woman’s advantage to be well-dressed, and she was con- 
scious of her own claim to admiration when she found herself 
between her husband on the one hand and Mr. Hatch on the 
other. The Hatches had arrived that morning. 

We were sorry to have missed Dean,” said Eoger Hatch, in 
a big, rollicking voice. Dean and his wife ! Your son Warren 
has been getting married also, I hear. Where is your little 
woman, Warren? And how comes it that your marriage was 
conducted so secretly?” 

It was a hurried affair,” said Warren. A recent bereave- 
ment in her family made it both hurried and sudden.” 

When is she coming to Armitage ? ” 

That is a question I hope to have her decide very soon. I 
am only on a flying visit myself. A week at the furthest.” 

suppose you are anxious to get back again. Queer she 
didn’t accompany you. Circumstances, I suppose ? ” 

Yes,” said Warren, slowly. When Mrs. Armitage comes it 
will be for good.” 


116 


HER HU SB AN H 8 MOTHER. 


His mother’s eyes snapped ; her lips shut together tightly — hvti 
she said nothing. 

I have a mental picture of what a sensible little girl Warren 
married/’ pursued -Mr. Hatch. He was an old friend of the 
family, and claimed certain prerogatives, among them unlimited 
freedom of speech. She’ll have to learn an Armitage trait, 
though.” 

And that?” 

Guarding her own secrets and minding her own business.” 
He laughed jovially. His hostess frowned. 

I can assure you she knows how to do both,” said Warren. 

Tell me of Dean’s wife. I’d like to see Dean’s wife.” 

Why ? ” asked Mrs. Baring. 

I can’t ever imagine what sort of a girl Dean would marry — ” 

Very pretty,” said Warren. 

That, certainly.” 

And very good and affectionate, as well, as far as I under- 
stand.” 

It is scarcely proper to discuss or praise one’s own relatives,” 
said Mrs. Armitage from the head of the table. But she is a 
charming girl, indeed, Mr. Hatch. One of the Masseys, of Boston, 
I believe. An excellent family! You are from Boston, Miss 
Chapin?” 

All eyes were directed to the girl, who looked up, smiling — she 
was thinking of Mrs. Armitage’s characterization of Dean’s wife — 
^^an insolent, haughty creature, not thankful enough to the 
Providence that gave her an Armitage for a husband.” 

Yes, of course,” she made answer now. 

A^ou knew the Masseys, perhaps? ” 

^^hTo; I did not know them,” said Marjorie. ^^I go out very 
little/’ 


HER HUSBANHS MOTHER. 


117 


General conversation drifted away from her then. It moved 
around and about her, and she took no further part in it. 

^^You look different, somehow, this evening,^^ said Warren 
gravely. ^^You are charming.^^ 

Marjorie laughed. 

Did you come to Armitage to discover that ? she asked. 

He raised his eyebrows — very much astonished. 

I really believe I did,^^ he answered. 

Hone so blind as those who will not see.^^ 

Old sayings come home at certain times,^^ he said, slowly — 
he was gazing down at her with new interest. The longer I look 
at you the more I am inclined to believe that I am luckier than I 
had thought possible.^^ 

People who move in society are trained in table talk,^^ she 
said, bending over her plate. Those are what they call plati- 
tudes? A new accomplishment in — 

In — whom ? His lips twitched a little. She had never 

called him her husband; never addressed him by his first name. 

In whom are you discovering this new — 

She lifted her eyebrows questioningly. 

Pardon me,^^ she said, if I have forgotten the name ? But 
it is so hard for me to remember names. How faces — Some 
faces one can never forget.^^ The arch look, the inference, the 
expression of raillery was delightful. 

He laughed outright. 

All women are aetresses,^^ he said. But I had thought you 
above — 

That was in Mercedes Estrada^s time,^^ broke in Mrs. Armi- 
tage’s shrill voice. ^^And that was a time. Armitage Hall has 
seen some vicissitudes, but never a misfortune to equal that which 
brought Malcolm^s wife to it.’^ 


118 


HER MOTHER, 


If a knife had been thrust into Marjorie’s bosom, she could 
not have drawn back more quickly. The light and pleasantry left 
her face ; no one, fortunately, was paying any attention to her, for 
none knew how that remark had bearing on the newcomer. She 
looked steadily at her husband, still smiling — ^but the smile was a 
frozen one, and the expression of her eyes stung him. 

Did I not hear you remark a few moments ago that it was 
scarcely proper to discuss one’s relatives, mother ? ” he asked, and 
his voice had a note of anger in it that made even the careless 
little Mrs. Hatch turn in his direction. Don’t bring up that 
unpleasant topic. I daresay that she was more sinned against 
than sinning.” 

Men have a larger charity than women, they say,” said Mrs. 
Armitage, laughing. I did not know you were her partisan, 
Warren, dear. I shall be more careful.” 

She was not looking at her son, but at the face of the girl 
beside him, whose whole attention seemed bent upon her dinner. 
Warren did not recover his spirits again ; he was frowning uncon- 
sciously — for he had told his mother that, above all other things, 
Mercedes Estrada’s name must not be mentioned. She had 
laughed at his request, but he had thought that she would heed it. 

He opened the door for Marjorie when she left the room. 

Endure it for this evening,” he said, in a low tone. It 
shall not happen again. I am your friend, remember.” 

She inclined her head toward him. Do not fear — I can 
stand it,” she said. And I can end it, too, when I please. I do 
not mind — very much.” 

But she was thinking, with terror in her timid soul, of the 
long hour that must ensue in the society of Mrs. Armitage and her 
three other guests. She was beginning to look upon her husband 
as a safeguard; she felt his instinctive honesty and his desire to 


HER HUSBAND^S MOTHER, 


119 


be just. She respected' him — and added to this respect was the 
sensation of gratitude which she had experience! twice that day. 
A sudden new thought came to her. She was praying, daily, that 
God might give the means into her hands to clear Mercedes Es- 
trada’s name; she was resolved to ask the great Giver of peace 
and concord that He might straighten out this tangled marriage 
of hers. 

Since we are one in faith,” thought Marjorie, and that 
is the greatest thing. I wonder would he pray if I asked him to. 
. . . It would be terrible to live in such coldness and pride 

and misunderstanding — if we are going to live long lives together. 
I shall ask him to pray with me — just one prayer — that he and I 
may be friends.” 

But when the gentlemen came in she did not see him alone, and 
she was in no mood to be tender. As if foreknowing that this 
might be her only chance to make things unpleasant for Mercedes 
Estrada’s niece, Mrs. Armitage did not scruple to use the sharpened 
point of a skilful tongue, in dwelling on reminiscences of the 
past. She was courteous enough on the surface, including the 
young girl in a conversation that she knew must be distasteful if 
not positively distressing to her. But her hatred for the woman 
who had been her enemy was not dead — and she was glad to show 
her descendant that it still existed. Marjorie did not utter a 
single word in defense. When Mrs. Armitage addressed her di- 
rectly she answered by monosyllables. She sat up very straight 
and still. A crimson spot burned on each cheek, but she carried a 
proud face to the very close of that bitterly long evening. 

Yet she was young, and it is safe to say that no more heart- 
broken girl ever wept herself to sleep than Marjorie Armitage 
that night. Her aunt was barely four months dead, and the 
wound a fresh one. It was a cruel thing to have the knife turned 


120 


HER HUSBAND^S MOTHER. 


in it so relentlessly. Allied to this was the feeling that she had no 
one, that she was alone in the world. Aversion for the man to 
whom she owed filial respect and obedience tormented her, and 
try as she might she conld not banish the rebellion that surged 
within her when she thought of him. He had compassed her mar- 
riage for some reason of his own — and the sacrifice seemed so use- 
less that her heart protested against it and against him — protested 
at the agony she had suffered when she imagined that she under- 
stood his threat of self-destruction; protested against the judg- 
ment which the man who had given her his name must have passed 
upon her. All these things rose before her this long, long night, 
ghosts with mocking faces in the silence and darkness, hours after 
her eyes had been wept dry. 

^ ^ Hi ^ 

Mrs. Armitage had condescended to explain the presence of the 
young Easterner to her other guests — Mrs. Hatch, Mrs. Baring, 
and Miss Delamere. A distant relative — one must invite them 
at times, she said — and the three ladies, privately discussing the 
matter, inferred that Marjorie was a poor relative as well, and 
that Mrs. Armitage was simply enduring her presence as a social 
duty. The young girl was too quiet and retiring to ask or expect 
notice from any one — ^too shy to wish it. She responded to the 
overtures of little Mrs. Hatch, who was a breezy Western woman 
having all the whole-souled good nature that seems to be the 
Westerner's inheritance — ^with pleasant smiles, yet she was chary, 
indeed, of her conversation. Mrs. Hatch was attracted by her 
gentle manner, but she could not understand her, and, therefore, 
would not intrude upon her. Heither Miss Delamere nor Mrs. 
Baring saw anything to admire in Miss Chapin. 

So that Marjorie was practically alone. 

She avoided every one, her husband most of all — and it was 


HER HUSBAHD'S MOTHER. 


121 


easy to do that at Armitage. ISTo one asked her any questions. 
She was present at meals — and from the two earlier ones, break- 
fast and luncheon, Warren Armitage absented himself. He was 
up and out of the house before the others stirred ; he would lose no 
time while at home, and there was much to be done on the Armi- 
tage estate — so that his midday meal was a desultory affair, eaten 
whenever he chanced to return. He was very kind in his manner 
toward Marjorie, but also very diffident. 

Meanwhile, Anne Apperson, the old servant whom Mrs. Armi- 
tage had given to Marjorie that first day, had taken a great liking 
to the young girl. She had many tales of early Armitage doings. 

You said you would tell me about the Black Tower in the 
lower woods and the lake,'’ said Marjorie one morning, the fourth 
of her stay. Yet I think it would be better to come down there 
with me — I should like to hear the tale right on the very spot. 
Is it very terrifying, Anne ? There is no ghost attached to it ? 

Hot a ghost, miss — ^though there should be, I^m thinking,’^ 
said Anne. It’s not such a dreadful story — just curious, that’s 
all. And if you’d like me to go with you — ” 

Indeed, I should like nothing better,” said Marjorie. And 
let us go this morning, Anne ? I want to see it badly. We will 
take the Leaf Path — 

The Leaf Path — ^the Leaf Path ! ” exclaimed Anne, turning 
meanwhile to look at the girl. ^^You mean along by the great 
arbor, miss — ” 

Ho, I don’t,” said Marjorie. I mean the Leaf Path— don’t 
you know? Where the leaves drift down, in yellow and crimson 
— until the whole path looks as if it were carpeted with jewels — ” 

It has never been called that but by one person,” said Anne 
Apperson. And that the Spanish lad}^ — Mr. Malcolm’s wife.” 

Marjorie was silent; it was, indeed, her Aunt Mercedes who 


122 


HER HUSBAND^S MOTHER. 


had given her this name for the road to the Black Tower. She 
had. forgotten that others might have a different title for it. 

May I not call it that if I wish to, Anne ? she asked. 

Oh; yes — indeed, yes,^^ said Anne. Shall we go now, miss ? 

Side by side they walked along the beautiful road that Aunt 
Mercedes had pictured in the record she had left her niece. 

^^'\^Tien you leave the house you pass through the avenue of 
locusts. There are many paths to right and left of you, but do not 
enter them, for at the end of the Locust Eoad another branches 
off at right angles to it. It is the Leaf Path — the spot I loved, 
where, in autumn — the glorious Californian autumn — ^the leaves 
drift down in masses of yellow and crimson, burning colors that 
our cold East can never hope to reproduce — so that the eye is 
dazzled as if gazing at a carpet of jewels.^^ 

Mar j oriels eyes were open as well as her ears now — and she 
stood a moment at the beginning of the Leaf Path, a prayer on 
her lips for the soul of the beautiful woman who had loved it well 
enough to remember it so vividly. Her step grew slower as she 
trod; her glance was bent upon the ground. She was used to 
heaviness of heart, but a new oppression weighed her down — as if 
the spirit of the dead called upon her, the living. 

It is very, very beautiful, Anne,^^ she said aloud. I never 
knew how wonderful our God is until I came here. We do not 
have such glory as this. One wants to lift one^s face to the sky, 
and piercing it with the eye of faith, thank Him who made us for 
the blessing of life. I thank Thee, God ! 

Anne did not reply. There was deep feeling in ide young 
voice; the words seemed to vibrate through the silent air; they 
seemed a benediction. And Marjorie, realizing that she had 
spoken her thoughts aloud, flushed a deep red with embarrassment. 


HER HVSBAHH8 MOTHER, 


123 


At the end of the Leaf Path they came out on a well-kept 
grassy space with tall trees standing like giants close together, and 
thick foliage bending over the mirrored surface of the lake in 
which rose the gloomy circular tower that had given the spot its 
name. The place was carefnlly attended to — ^the trees, the grass 
gave evidence of this. A boat, too, lay hauled up on the shore. 
Marjorie paused, looking across at the dark gray granite of the 
tower. 

It has an iron door — I can see that from here,^^ she said. 

Whose boat is that, Anne ? 

Mr. Warren^s — when he wants to use iV^ said Anne. No 
one but Mr. Warren would go near the Black Tower — and even 
he merely rows around it occasionally to see if iPs all right. IPs 
not the pleasantest spot in Armitage, miss.^^ 

Yet it would have a great fascination for me,^^ said Marjorie, 
suddenly. I am glad I know the way now. I shall come often. 
Do you think Mr. Warren would be angry if I used his boat to 
row^ around the tower ? 

I do not know,^’ said Anne, dubiously. HeM probably never 
find it out. And do you really like the place ? 

I do, really. I think it delightful.^^ She laughed. If ever 
I am missing you will know where to look for me. I am tempted 
to push that boat into the water and go over there now.^^ 

DonT,^^ said Anne, almost in terror. I donT like it — 
I think there^s no luck in it. ^Twas an outlandish place to have 
for a burying-ground, anyhow — 

Tell me,^^ said Marjorie. You know all about it — donT 

you ? 

Yes,^^ said Anne. She seated herself on the shawl she spread 
carefully on the ground, and right willingly began her brief tale. 

The old Armitages were the first to come to California,^^ she 


124 


HER HUBBANB^B MOTHER. 


said. They were here long years before the gold fever. J ean 
Armitage was quite wealthy in her own right, at that, when her 
husband built the place to suit her. She had only the one son — 
a little, sickly, pining lad. They said the child was dying on her 
hands from the moment he was born — ^but that she fought so 
hard for him that God took pity on her and let him live a while 
longer than He had meant him to. 

The husband went first ; she was a queer body, ^and when the 
little lad died soon after, that just drove her demented. She had 
this tower built. In the ground underneath, her husband was 
buried, and above, in the vault, she had a little stone altar made 
for her son^s coffin and her own. She used to visit here every day, 
filling the place with fiowers. Some said that she^d be found dead 
here herself. She was, too — found lying dead with her face to the 
ground outside the iron door. 

Her body was carried home to the Hall. They said it was 
heart disease. But no matter what it was, when death comes to 
the Armitages it comes mighty quick. There^s never any linger- 
ing illness. They just drop down, and in a few hours — a day or 
two maybe — they^re gone. It was that way with Mr. Warren’s 
father and with Mr. Malcolm, and with all the Armitages as far 
back as I ever heard tell of. 

But when Mrs. J ean Armitage came to be buried they took 
her body to the tower, knowing it was her dearest wish to lie with 
her son and husband. And, miss, dear, when they opened the iron 
gate and lit the candles that they held in their hands, the men 
carrying the corpse almost dropped it. For the little stone coffin of 
the young boy was heaped up with — what do you think, now, 
miss ? 

Flowers, of course,^’ said Marjorie. 

Diamonds,^’ said Anne, in a whisper. J ust loaded down 


HER HVSBAEHS MOTHER, 


125 


with them, covered with them. Worth more than all Armitage 
together. They gathered them up and took them away. They 
were in the family all the years until — 

She hesitated and looked across at the Black Tower. 

Go on/^ said Marjorie. "V^at happened then? 

That^s another story, miss.^^ 

And you canT tell it to me — 

Oh, yes — if you donT mind listening I can tell it. It^s about 
Mr. Malcolm and his wife.^^ 

^^Yes?^^ asked Marjorie. Anne looked at her questioningly, 
but Mar j oriels face said nothing. 

Mr. Malcolm was the rightful owner here. He had a brother, 
Mr. Eobert, who was Mr. Warren^s father. Mr. Malcolm was 
forty when he met a very beautiful young Spanish girl — Miss 
Mercedes. Oh, she was magnificent, miss. Mr. Malcolm was fine 
looking, too, but he was twenty years older than she — and inclined 
to be very jealous of her. Mr. Eobert^s wife — ^the Mrs. Armitage 
you know — did not like the stranger, for she had hoped that Mr. 
Malcolm would never marry, but leave all Armitage to one of her 
two boys — I have no right to be prattling so much ! My long 
tongue will get me into trouble, broke off Anne, in a vexed tone. 

You can trust me,^^ said Marjorie. Trust me, Anne. And 
do not stop now — just at the interesting part.^^ She looked at her 
with an appealing smile. 

I think you can be trusted, miss,^^ said Anne. So I will 
go on. The new lady was very well liked. ^Ylly, miss, people used 
to go miles out of the way to get a glimpse of her. I never saw a 
face in any picture as beautiful as hers, and once I heard Mr. 
Malcolm tell her that it was a shame for any one woman to be so 
lovely. She had looks to spare for twenty.^^ 

Poor soul ! said Marjorie. 


126 


HER HU8BA1:^B^B MOTHER. 


You know her story^ then ? asked Anne. 

I — ^have heard said Marjorie. 

There was some gay goings-on up at the Hall for months 
after they were married. She was like a flower. Everything she 
did or said was perfect. She had no enemy — save one. Mr. War- 
ren^s mother never liked her. And she hated Mr. Warren^s mother, 
so much so, that after a while she began to turn Mr. Malcolm 
against his brother and all, too. 

But one night a dreadful thing happened. Yone of us 
servants had heard anything of what was going on. This night — 
it was after a big ball they had here — there was a terrible scene. 
Mr. Malcolm had been told that his wife had only married him 
for the sake of his position, and that she loved another man. It so 
happened that this other man had been present that night, and 
that Mr. Malcolm had overheard something — I donT know what. 
It was through Mr. Warren’s mother it all came out. The little 
Spanish lady ! Oh, she had a temper like Are ! It was awful ! 
She would not even deny the truth or falsity of the accusations. 
She acted like a madwoman. And I dare say the beautiful crea- 
ture was almost mad to be attacked like that. Mr. Malcolm could 
not contain himself — the Armitages are not the sweetest-natured in 
the world. He struck her.” 

Struck — ^her ! ” said Marjorie. 

Yes, miss. There never was another word said — or if there 
was, we servants heard nothing. The next morning the Spanish 
lady was gone. And all the Armitage jewels with her.” 

She took them ? ” 

She was supposed to. Perhaps she thought she had a right 
to them. But they were all gone, anyhow. And the Armitages 
haven’t had much luck since. Hot a thing has prospered with 
them. They do say Mr. Malcolm wore himself out finding her — 


HER HUSBAND^S MOTHER. 


127 


but that when he found her she wouldn^t see him nor have any- 
thing to do with him/^ 

I daresay she thought she was doing right/^ said Marjorie. 

Perhaps/^ said Anne. But he was her lawfully- wedded hus- 
band, and a blow struck in anger isn’t enough to spoil a man’s life 
for — do you think ? ” 

I — don’t know,” said Marjorie. Maybe, if she hadn’t loved 
r him, it wouldn’t have been so hard. One can tolerate things in 
i people whom one doesn’t love. It was all a lie — ” 

I’ve always believed it so,” said Anne, confidentially. 

Always. 'No one like her could be untrue to her husband, in my 
mind. I stuck up for her — even though she did take the diamonds 
away with her. That wasn’t right.” 

hTo — that wasn’t right,” said Marjorie, thoughtfully. If — 

she took them.” 

Why, who else was there ? ” asked Anne, simply. They’ve 
never been seen since.” 

Maybe she hid them,” suggested the girl. 

^^Why? For what reason? ISTo; she took them — and sold 
them, I suppose. There’d be them would say she was entitled to 
them.” 

Yes; I imagine so,” admitted Marjorie. But Mr. Warren’s 
mother got her wish after all.” 

Yes — Mr. ]\Ialcolm left the whole thing to Mr. Warren. And 
he isn’t a bad master at that. He could make a fine place out of 
it if he’d only sell part and build up the other with the money he’d 
get that way. But I think he promised his uncle not to sell. He 
got a great offer some time ago for this very part of Armitage 
we’re standing on — this bank, the tower, and the grove there. His 
mother was wild that he refused it. Some Eastern firm made it 
— ^they say there was almost a quarter of a million in it.” 


128 


HER HUSBANHS MOTHER. 


I am glad he wouldn^t sell/’ said Marjorie. I think this is 
the nicest spot in all Armitage.” 

Well, I don’t.” The old woman got to her feet and picked 
np her shawl. Let’s turn back now, miss. I don’t like it. Mr. 
Warren would be well rid of it — and for that much money ! Mr. 
Malcolm himself wouldn’t refuse that.” 

Marjorie did not answer. 


A CURIOUS SITUATION, 


129 


CHAPTEK XII. 

A CURIOUS SITUATION. 

You are very late, Warren/^ said his mother, with some 
asperity. 

'No later than usual. What time is it ? He glanced at his 
watch. Half-past two — ^thaPs not so bad. Outfields is in prime 
condition — just got through looking it over. Pity I wasn^t able 
to — Xever mind. That will come.^^ He spoke half aloud, half 
under his breath. 

Outfields is all very well,^^ said his mother, impatiently. 

If you had taken my advice — 

DonT begin on that — not now. I^m in no mood for it/^ 
curtly. You wanted to see me about anything else ? 

Yes. Senator Trumbull is coming on the 4.10 train. It 
would look better, now that you are home, if you yourself go to 
the station to meet him.'^^ 

Certainly,^^ said Warren. 141 be only too glad. Is he com- 
ing alone ? 

No. Miss Ayrton — ^his niece — is to accompany him.^^ 

Oh ! said Warren. His face fiushed a swarthy red. Did 
you know that before now ? 

was not sure — and I mentioned it in my letter,^^ said Mrs. 
Armitage. What was the trouble between you and Sybil Ayrton^ 
anyhow ? 


130 


A CURIOUS SITUATION. 


We had no trouble/^ answered Warren. Has Dean told 
you his part of the story ? 

Yes. The whole story. She hesitated^ and went on in a 
softer tone : I was very sorry when I heard that you had to make 
such a sacrifice — it would have been better even if Dean had mar- 
ried the girl, since you are the master of Armitage.^^ 

Yliich was a thing even Dean could not do — considering/^ 
answered Warren. And/^ he laughed, it would have been a 
shame to miss such an opportunity.^^ 

DonT talk so. A^ou know my sentiments — I hate the crea- 
ture. And did you notice the resemblance? YTiat it is I don’t 
know — but there’s some of the traits of that horrible woman about 
— Miss Chapin. It’s the head or the figure or something — per- 
haps the voice. She is a continual torment to me. I wish you 
could think of some means of sending her away — ^let her go to her 
father for a while — ” 

You talk like a simpleton, mother,” said Warren. She 
isn’t doing harm to any one — goes about her own business, and is 
altogether too gentle. How many women are there would stand 
this, do you think? Just to please a fancy of yours, too. Why 
not try to win her over? She’d make a pretty good friend, I 
imagine, and no matter in what light you regard her, she is the 
mistress of Armitage. All this old-time feud is nonsense. Let it 
die out and die down. Be kind to Marjorie, and in return — ” 

I scarcely thought that I should hear you — ^tricked into a 
marriage, with such a wife as she is saddled on you — I scarcely 
thought that I should hear you take her part so strenuously. Prob- 
ably when you know her as long as you know me you will not be 
so apt in her defense.” 

Warren turned away. His mother could keep up an argument 
of this sort indefinitely, and he had no wish to go on with it, A 


A CURIOUS SITUATION. 


131 


strong feeling of partisanship for Marjorie was stirring within him 
— and he was inclined to he disgusted with the prejudice which 
he knew she must perceive and suffer from. And he asked him- 
self how he was aware of this^, since his wife was almost a stranger 
to him. 

^ ^ Hi Hi 

Marjorie, with a light shawl thrown over her girlish dinner- 
dress, had gone out into the grounds and turned down oiice more 
through the path that had a fascination- for her. She could 
imagine her Aunt Mercedes, young and beautiful, walking through 
here, aglow with the delight it gave her. The memory of that aunt, 
and the thought of the past Miich had been so sorrowful, cast a 
shadow over Mar j oriels face. She had picked up some of the 
prettier leaves, and was coming slowly toward the house, her head 
bent — nearer the big front veranda than she imagined — in full 
view of its occupants. They stared at the approaching figure with 
interest. Eealizing her proximity at last, she raised her head and 
paused irresolutely. Strangers ! She w^as sh}^ about meeting 
strangers, but this meeting could not be avoided, that she knew. 
So she went up the broad, white stone steps and waited while her 
husband^s mother advanced to meet her. 

Mrs. Armitage introduced her as perfunctorily as possible. 
But big, bluff, hearty Senator Trumbull smiled at her in a way 
that went straight to the girl’s lonely heart. 

A little Eastern blossom,^^ he said. She looks it — even my 
girl Sybil is losing her roses in the busy life she leads. Do you 
intend to stay with us very long. Miss Chapin ? 

I can not tell,^^ she answered, in her soft voice. That is un- 
decided.^^ 

She knew of Senator Trumbull ; the meaning of the story she 
had read, and the story she meant to tell looked at him out of her 


132 


A CURIOUS SITUATION. 


grave, searching blue eyes. He felt a certain curiosity for this 
girl with the little white face. 

You surely can persuade her to remain until she loses some 
of that too spiritual expression/^ was his next blunt remark, di- 
rected to Mrs. Armitage. She murmured a few words in reply — 
conventionally polite, and Marjorie seated herself in one of the 
low chairs — apart from the rest, feeling that they were covertly 
staring Ijer out of countenance. Strangely enough, this fact, which 
on another occasion would have caused her great embarrassment, 
did not bother her now. She was thinking of the Black Tower; 
of Aunt Mercedes; and of the Senator. From under her lowered 
lashes she looked at him, unseen, pondering over what he would 
say when she asked — 

What a kind face it was ! The merry eyes, the noble forehead, 
the fine white hair and heard — and the earnest ring to his voice. 
He seemed an honest and an honorable man. And Marjorie was 
glad. 

How to be alone in company,^^ said some one near her. She 
looked up with a smile to meet her husband^s eyes. Have you 
solved the problem ? 

Perhaps I am not sociable,^^ she answered ; or can not make 
conversation.^^ 

The conversation that is worth anything will make itself,’^ 
answered Warren Armitage. ^^Will you give me permission ? 
He pointed to a vacant chair, drawing it nearer to her. 

It is not mine to give you permission,’^ she answered. Yo,” 
as he drew back ; don’t be offended. I did not mean to offend 
you.” She smiled then. There are so many here who would be 
pleased to listen to you — ^making the conversation that makes 
itself.” 

Perhaps. That means that you are not pleased ? ” This was 


A CURIOUS SITUATION. 


138 


the second time that he had surprised her in this light mood — and 
it delighted him. 

Pleased ? Oh, it does not matter. Look at the leaves I have 
gathered in the — She was ahont to give it the name she had 
learned from Annt Mercedes, but recollected herself. think 
yonr home is very beantifnl.^^ 

Do yon ? I am inclined to be of that opinion myself 

I am glad yon acknowledge it so honestly. Yes; it is very 
beantifnl — I realized that to-day. I went to the Black Tower 
with — 

Qneer,^^ said Senator Trnmbnll. Yon Ye not an Armitage 

relative. Miss Chapin ? 

Marjorie looked startled. She glanced np to find all eyes 
fastened on her. 

I ? she questioned. Why — 

There was something in the way yon tnrned yonr head re- 
minded me of Mrs. Malcolm jnst then,^^ said the Senator. I had 
to remark it. There is a resemblance — ” 

That was the great beanty,^^ cnt in a langnid voice from the 
other side of the veranda. Marjorie had not bestowed much of 
her attention on the Senator^ lovely niece. Now she gazed at her 
interested. Was she mistaken ? Snrely that was not scorn looking 
at her ont of the prond, fair face ? WLy shonld she direct snch a 
glance as that toward her? And then, from Marjorie, the beanty 
let her eyes rest on Warren Armitage, and the scorn deepened to 
a challenge. He met that challenge fnll — and answered it in kind, 
and his gaze was so steady and so stern that Miss Ayrton grew 
much embarrassed! A little by-play, which no one noticed but 
Marjorie. And she, not knowing its meaning, was indifferent, 
listening to the next words : 

There is a younger Mrs. Armitasre. is there not, Mr. Warren? 


134 


A CURIOUS SITUATION. 


I heard thai you were married shortly after my engagement to Mr. 
Yanrevel/’ 

Yes/’ said Warren Armitage. I was married some months 

ago/’ 

Sybil laughed. 

Strange ! She must be a prosaic little woman to permit you 
to leave her so soon. Where is she ? ” 

Yot very far away/’ said Warren^ almost carelessly. And 
she did not permit me. She simply asked me to come. Armitage 
involves large interests, and some wives are provident.” 

So ! ” said Miss Ayrton. But her eyes were dancing. Was 
anything more romantic than this? And. he devoting himself 
to that absurd little Miss Chapin, thinking to pique her ! Foolish 
fellow ! Shall we see her before we leave ? ” 

I hope so. She does not parade herself — ^has no desire to 
join the treadmill of society.” 

I think dinner is ready — let us go in,” said Mrs. Armitage. 
She was vexed at this mention of Warren’s marriage — knowing 
that it would create undesirable discussion among her guests. 

But she was not to be relieved of the distressing subject even 
at that. Sybil Ayrton handled it delicately all during the. meal, 
and after a while Marjorie, on Warren’s left, sat listening to a 
war of repartee, gradually learning that her husband and Miss 
Ayrton were old and, at one time, dear friends. Sybil had noticed 
with resentment the easy relations existing between Miss Chapin 
and the man she had jilted; and again, she wished to prove to 
him that she still could be as fascinating as of old. Warren, a 
little more than four months before, would have listened to her 
with delight, and agreed that she was the most charming, as well 
as the wittiest of women. But his eyes had been opened since. 
He knew that she lacked depth and that she was deceitful. He 


A CURIOUS SITUATION. 


135 


was curious to find out how she appeared to him, viewing her as 
a stranger. 

It is the most remarkable thing/^ said Senator Trumbull, 
taking a seat beside Miss Chapin after dinner. There is not a 
feature in your face like the Mrs. Armitage I knew — yet you cer- 
tainly do resemble her. Let me confess that I have been watching 
you all night — ” 

Marjorie, with twinkling eyes, lifted her finger to her lips. 
It was an affectation peculiarly Aunt Mercedes’ own. He stared 
at her. 

May I tell you a little secret — so as to prepare you for what 
is coming ? she asked. I am Mercedes Estrada’s great-niece. 
She was my mother’s own aunt.” 

Senator Trumbull fell back. 

You ? ” he exclaimed. 

Even I. And I am at Armitage for a purpose. Nothing 
could have better suited that purpose than that you should have 
come while I am here. Senator Trumbull, may I ask you to keep 
this secret for the time being ? ” 

As long as you wish me to,” was the ready response. Need 
I say how delighted — ” 

I have a great favor to ask of you — and a message to give 

you.” 

A message — ^to give me ? ” 

A^es. From the Mrs. Malcolm Armitage you remember.” 

She is still alive then ? ” he asked, eagerly. 

No,” she answered, and her voice quivered. My aunt is 
dead four months.” 

^ He was silent. Marjorie recovered herself quickly. 

^^You will think it strange — I am a stranger to you. You 
must feel that. Nevertheless, I Imow all about you; have heard 


136 


A CURIOUS SITUATION. 


much. Since seeing you^ I am sure that my Aunt Mercedes was 
not mistaken.^^ 

Thank you, my dear/^ he answered. Mercedes Armitage 
befriended me when I was younger and hotter-headed than I am 
now. I have never forgotten it. There is a long stretch between 
that time and this. I have been in Armitage twice since ; but the 
memory of her seems to linger here. Tell me, if I am not too 
inquisitive; have you ever heard the true reason of her leaving 
Malcolm Armitage ? I have been told strange tales — 

Did you believe them ? 

No,^^ he answered. I could not. And because I could not 
believe them, I would not listen to them. Besides that, a woman 
so beautiful as she must always have something to suffer. It is 
the penalty.^^ 

If that is the penalty. Aunt Mercedes paid it/’ said Marjorie 
slowly. 

And she is dead ! Well, well ! Strange ! This life is very 
strange.^^ 

Except to us who know that it is merely a stopping-place,^^ 
said Marjorie. 

When one gets old one knows that. How did you find it out 
— and at your age ? 

Some people grow old of heart by reason of grave problems.^^ 
Senator Trumbull laughed. 

Barely twenty, arenT you ? Yes ? You do not look even that. 
Grave problems ! Child, what do you know of grave problems ? 

Enough to have made me old,^^ was Marjorie^s reply. She 
knew that she had roused his curiosity — that he was anxious to 
know more about her. She would not tell him. It was not tiihe. 
So she fenced and parried and turned aside every indirect allusion 
until he acknowledged that w’hoever this mysterious little girl was. 


A CURIOUS SITUATION. 


137 


she knew enough to keep her own counsel. It pleased him that this 
was so. He could appreciate so rare a gift as reticence in a woman. 

^ ^ 4 : 

Early the next morning found Marjorie once more on her way 
through the Leaf Path. This time not without purpose, as the 
determined expression on her face showed. She did not linger, 
but coming out on the bank that bordered the lake, she stood look- 
ing for a moment at the heavy boat drawn up on shore — wonder- 
ing whether she had strength enough to shove it off. She picked 
up the oars — ^they were light, fortunately, she decided, and would 
make what she meant to do so much easier. Knowing her 'own 
lack of strength she had come at this comparatively early hour; 
she felt that it would take her a long time to get the boat into the 
water, and she must accomplish all she had to do before luncheon. 
Things were shaping themselves providentially — ^the arrival of 
Senator Trum_bull last evening had accentuated this fact. She had 
the means in her hand of freeing the memory of Aunt Mercedes 
from all blame and she would take the means. She would con- 
found — 

She hesitated a moment. After all, that woman was Warren^s 
mother ... his mother. . . . He did not deserve that 

she, the unwelcome wife. . . . She pressed her lips together. 

It was not fair to allow that consideration to carry weight with 

her. . . . 

What are you doing, Marjorie? 

She had heard no one approach ; she had heard no sound. But 
now her husband stood at her elbow, a slightly amused expression 
on his face. 

Nothing very much — yet,’^ she made answer. Contemplat- 
ing a great deal. I want to get this boat shoved off into the lake.^^ 

Why ? he asked, in astonishment. 


138 


A CURIOUS SITUATION. 


Oh, because I have a notion to row over to the Black Tower. 
I want to see what it looks like at close range/’ said Marjorie, 
with heightened color. Perhaps you can help me, now that you 
are here? ” 

Allow me to row you across ? ” 

Oh, I can handle the oars,” she said, confidently. I 
wouldn’t think of troubling you.” 

Troubling me ? It is no trouble to be of service to one of my 
mother’s guests.” 

Thank God I am not that,” said Marjorie, fervently. 

He frowned. 

You are not satisfied here. Let me end the farce, for I, too, 
am weary of it. I wish I had never consented to it. It seems 
so — ” 

In another day — two days at the most,” pleaded Marjorie. 

I promise you. But now I want to get across to the Black 
Tower. And I want to go alone.” 

Alone ? ” he said, doubtfully. He was holding the rope in 
his hand — ^had already shoved the boat down, and it rested placidly 
on the quiet water. Alone ? It is very deep. Can you swim ? ” 

Yo — 0 — 0,” Marjorie confessed reluetantly. 

That settles it. I won’t have any accident.” 

There will be no accident.” 

Y^iy so positive ? It would look bad if you met your death 
here. Your father would say it was done intentionally.” 

Marjorie straightened up haughtily. 

If you put it in that way you may come — ” she began, and 
then she turned, hearing the rustle of skirts along the ground, 
meeting as she did so the smiling face of Sybil Ayrton. She bit 
her lip with vexation. But Sybil was not one to notice anything 
of this sort — especially under these conditions. 


A CURIOUS SITUATION. 


139 


How romantic ! she cried^ in her silvery voice. Do not 
say that I intrude on you. This is altogether delightful. Warren 
— Mr. Armitage ! She came swiftly over the grassy hank as she 
spoke. I saw you coming down this way, and followed you 
deliberately — ^yes, I did. I wanted you to take me out on the 
haunted lake. Xo one else has the courage. Please? She looked 
up at him, laughing. Marjorie shrank away, and turned as if to 
leave. 

Her husband’s voice stopped her. 

I just promised Miss Chapin — ” 

Some other time will do as well,” began Marjorie. 

"VWiy can’t we both go ? ” asked Sybil, smiling — although 
Warren’s hesitation made her cheeks flush with annoyance. 

Come, Miss Chapin, I think you’re afraid. At an^^ rate, I shall 
be the braver for company, and Mr. Armitage will have gotten rid 
of the two of us. Will you take us both ? ” 

Marjorie dissented. 

I really do not care to go,” she said. 

Then I shall haul the boat up again,” declared Warren 
Armitage. 

Oh, don’t be disagreeable,” said Sybil Ayrton, pouting. I’m 
just dying to get over there, and take a peep at that big iron door 
or gate, or whatever it is, on the Black Tower. Please come. Miss 
Chapin — since Mr. Armitage is so decisive — or so afraid of being 
alone with me ! ” 

I am sure that is it,” said Warren, and his tone was rude. 

That is the real reason. You are too charming a girl. Miss 
Ayrton.” 

With much reluctance Marjorie signified her assent. She took 
her place in the how, while Warren, after handing Sybil into the 
stern, looked at his watch. 


140 


A CURIOUS SITUATION, 


How long is this contract for ? I have an appointment at 
eleven/^ 

Only there, around, and back,^’ said Sybil. 

There, aronnd, and back — is that all. Miss Chapin ? 

I donT know,^^ said Marjorie, briefly. Wait until we get 
there. I suppose there’s nothing to hinder us getting out at the 
Tower ? ” 

Nothing at all — if your nerves are strong enough.” 

Oh, that will be something to relate,” said Sybil, clapping 
her hands. There is so much that is strange and pleasant and 
old and ghostly at Armitage. One never seems to see everything. 
I am delighted that I came this time — although, at first — ” 

She looked at the yQung man, who smiled grimly. It was a 
curious situation — to be out rowing with his wife and the girl 
who had jilted him, and to tell himself — ^believing it — that he did 
not care a snap of his finger for either. 


IN THE BLACK TOWER. 


141 


CHAPTEK XIII. 

m THE BLACK TOWER. 

It was a queer scene. Even the sunlight of this wonderful 
land did not seem to dispel altogether the gloom surrounding the 
Black Tower. The tall trees shut out most of the light; the lake 
looked very dark and quiet as its waters touched the shores, re- 
ceded, and came back again, in soft little ripples that could scarcely 
be called waves. The foliage drooped down, with long branches 
hanging in the lake. All was silent — even oppressive, and Warren 
Armitage handled the oars gently, so that they made scarcely any 
sound. Sybil Ayrton did not speak, and Marjorie Chapin’s fore- 
head was contracted in a frown. 

You look cross. Miss Chapin,” said Sybil suddenly. 

Do I ? ” asked Marjorie. 

What is it ? ” said Warren, resting on his oars to look at her. 

Xothing — Miss Ayrton merely takes a thoughtful expression 
for crossness,” said Marjorie. I was thinking.” 

Sybil smiled as Warren turned toward her again. She lifted 
her brilliant eyes to his face, and there was a gleam in them. She 
was, indeed, a beautiful girl — ^there was no contrasting Marjorie’s 
pale countenance with this lovely one. Yet, thought Warren 
Armitage, there was more sympathy, and more truth — 

He shrugged his shoulders. In Marjorie? The girl who had 
married him for ambition’s sake? And he would discover good 
traits in her now ? Or in any woman ? What a fool he was ! 


142 


IN THE BLACK TOWER. 


Is that a thoughtful expression — or a cross one?^’ asked 
Sybil. 

What — mine ? He laughed. Neither. It is disgust.^^ 

Disgust ? Had Warren Armitage been so frank and blunt 
in the past this girl might have been true to him. This was not 
the nature she remembered, that, with homage and reverence, put 
the girl he cared for so high above him. Her face crimsoned. 

Disgust ? Oh, put me ashore. Yes ; by all means — I am prob- 
ably de trop.^^ 

Warren laughed. And Marjorie, hearing, turned her face 
away. She had no time to bother with Sybil Ayrton. They 
were approaching the tower — she movod restlessly. She had 
meant to come alone — until her husband^s sudden appearance and 
his insistence on accompanying her had made her resolve to show 
him what secret the Black Tower had held so many years. What 
should she do? Allow him to row around it and to go back again, 
choosing an hour for her project when they might visit here with- 
out the presence of a third party? The beginning of the end of 
her visit to Armitage was so near that it seemed hard to permit 
him to pass it now. 

What a gloomy, awful, altogether dismal spot ! cried Sybil 
Ayrton, with a shudder. Let us get away from it — 1^11 warrant 
Miss Chapin is frightened to death.^^ 

On the contrary,’’ said Marjorie. She was looking up at the 
dark-gray circular building with eager eyes. On the contrary. 
Do you mind allowing me to land, Mr. Armitage ? Miss Ayrton 
can stay in the boat — ” 

No,” said Sybil. At least I am as courageous as you. Miss 
Chapin. We will see all there is to be seen, together.” 

She laughed. Again Warren stopped rowing and turned to 
Marjorie, 


IN THE BLACK TOWER. 


143 


Is it really your wish to get out here ? he asked. 

If you will permit me, yos.^’ 

Without another word he rowed in close to the shore, pulled in 
his oars, and jumped out. Helping Marjorie, he noticed that her 
fingers were like ice, and looking at her he saw that she w^as 
trembling. 

I think this is unwise of you,^^ he began. 

Oh, no,^^ she exclaimed. She put her hand on his arm then. 

You have the key,^^ she said in a hurried voice. You have the 
key of the inside door ? 

^MVhyP^Mie asked. 

We must go in — we must go in together, you and I — wait.^^* 
She slipped her fingers into her belt. Here is my key, if you 
have none.’^ 

A duplicate ! said Warren. 

It was my aunt^^^ whispered Marjorie. And now come.^^ 

He could only stare at her in blank astonishment. 

I want to show you — to prove — come — She could say 
nothing more. Sybil Ayrton, not hearing the low-toned conversa- 
tion, stood looking at both in surprise. Warren Armitage turned 
to her courteously. 

Miss Chapin wishes to see the interior of the vault,” he said. 

Will you accompany us. Miss Ayrton ? ” 

Hot I,” said Sybil, shuddering. Ho ; let me stay here — it is 
far enough to go, and I shall be frightened to death as it is. Why 
do you want to go in there. Miss Chapin? ” 

I may never have another chance to come in contact with 
anything so mysterious,” said Marjorie, trying to speak lightly. 
^^You never entered it?” to her husband. 

Ho,” and his voice was harsh, I have no such curiosity. 
Let the dead rest.” 


144 


IN THE BLACK TOWER, 


She cast down her eyes at the implied rebuke. 

In a little while you will understand/^ she said. 

The barred grating that encircled the tower opened easily, and 
the heavy studded iron door leading into the vault looked very, 
big and dark. Sybil shrank back. 

am not going one step farther/^ she said, seating herself. 

I will stay here and await the adventurous pair. Please do not 
be swallowed up by any hobgoblins — for I donT know how to 
row.’^ 

She spoke lightly, but she was thoroughly vexed. She had 
understood at last that Warren Armitage^s indifference was not 
feigned — and that whatever charm lay in Miss Chapin^s conversa- 
tion he cared more for it and for her society than for her own. 

We sha^nT be five minutes/^ said Marjorie. Her breath came 
quickly and her eyes were shining. Warren fitted the curious key 
in the door, and with a sharp, quick turn of the wrist, unlocked 
it. A musty, damp odor rushed out at them. 

DonT try any tricks with this door. Miss Ayrton,^^ he said, 
as he pushed it wide. IPs a spring lock — only opens from the 
outside, and if it shuts it would take more force of muscle than 
you possess to open it. I have no wish to be locked in this 
tomb for an hour — or until such time as you could bring help.^^ 

He laughed as he spoke, and Sybil pouted. 

It would just serve you right — both of you — if I did,^^ she 
said. But donT be afraid — I wonT touch it.^^ 

Marjorie caught impatiently at his sleeve. 

Come,^’ she said. Let us hurry.^^ 

There was an outer chamber running the entire circle of the 
vault proper — and, as their eyes became accustomed to the gloom 
they saw the round black space that led into the last resting-place 
of the dead J ean Armitage and her little son. 


IN THE BLACK TOWER, 


145 


Come/^ said Marjorie, again. Here are matches — and a 
taper.^^ She handed him both as she spoke. Help me ; I want to 
show you something now.^^ 

By this time he was as curious as she. He lit the taper, and 
held it aloft. Marjorie was trembling with excitement. 

Give me your hand,^^ he said, peremptorily, and she obeyed 
him — for she was indeed nervous. 

Together they entered the vault, and the fluttering taper threw 
but a faint spark of light around it. The gloom was intense. 

I never knew darkness could be so blaclc/’ said Marjorie, in 
a whisper. Oh, how dark it is, how dark ! I should not want to 
be buried here — away from God^s sunshine and pure air.^^ 

What does it matter where one is buried — See, there are 
the cofflns. The large one is my ancestress — the little stone one — 
I thought I saw a gleam of something bright just then — 

You did, you did! said Marjorie; ^^that is what I wanted 
you to see.^^ She pulled him toward the center of the compart- 
ment. Warren Armitage, bending over the coffln, started back 
with a cry. 

What are they — What is this — 

The Armitage diamonds 1 said Marjorie. She was shaking 
from head to foot, but her voice was triumphant. The Armitage 
diamonds ! That is why I wanted you to come here. First I must 
prove that my Aunt Mercedes was not the thief your mother has 
always claimed her to be. Here is the evidence — here, before you. 
These are the lost Armitage diamonds.^’ 

Her husband stood dumfounded. 

How did you know they were here ? ” he asked. 

Warren — Miss Chapin ! called Sybil’s clear voice from the 

outer corridor. Where in the world are you ? ” 

Let us get out,” said Wirren Armitage. I’ll row her to 


146 


IN THE BLACK TOWER, 


shore, for I must talk this over with you, Marjorie, and at once. 
Come — we won’t disturb the resting-place of the jewels now, but 
leave as if our visit was simply one of curiosity. Later on — ” 
There was a curious, creaking noise, a swift gush of air, and 
then a clang that shook the Black Tower from top to bottom. 
Warren, with an inarticulate exclamation, darted out of the vault. 
Too late! The door was shut. Sybil with frightened face was 
leaning close to it. 

Good heavens, what has happened ? How did it swing to ? ” 
Warren threw his whole weight against it as he spoke. 

I don’t know,” Sybil said faintly. I grew afraid — outside, 
and came over to look for you. I took hold of the door uncon- 
sciously, but I did not know I dragged it — ” 

Warren was not listening. He tried the door again; tried to 
shake it, tried to move it — ^but he might as well have essayed, 
unaided, the overturning of the Black Tower itself. The corridor 
was dimly lighted from the high roof— but the light was so faint 
that he could scarcely make out Sybil’s features. Marjorie, who 
had followed him, spoke now. 

Do not exhaust yourself,” she said. Some one will surely 
come in a little while, and you can call — ” 

How am I going to see whoever comes ? ” he asked, in an 
exasperated tone. There isn’t a loophole. And to call — one 
might as well be cast away on a desert island.” 

^^But they will come to look for us — will see the boat — and 
will know that we are here somewhere,” said the girl, hopefully. 

I wish to goodness I had stayed at home,” said Sybil. I 
might have known something like this would happen. It is un- 
lucky to disturb the dead — ” 

Neither answered her. Both Marjorie and Warren echoed the 
wish in their own minds. Warren, indeed, was looking at the 


IN THE BLACK TOWER. 


147 


worst side of it. It would be hours before they were released. 
There was no place even to lean against in the vault. Sitting on 
the cold^ damp floor was out of the question. The air was heavy 
and oppressive enough now — he wondered^ with sudden appre- 
hension^, if there were some source from which fresh air might 
enter. Three people breathing here would soon exhaust the 
oxygen. 

A^liere is the taper, Marjorie? he asked. 

I donT know/^ she answered. I have more matches. You 
probably dropped it inside.^^ 

^^We had better save the matches/^ said Warren Armitage, 
grimly. And the taper, too, for that matter. If night comes on 
without — 

Sybil gave a scream. 

DonT ! she said. Don’t talk like that. If night comes ! 
We will never have to stay here until night comes — ” 

It is well to prepare for the worst,” said Warren. I sin- 
cerely hope that they will begin to worry about us before night- 
fall. But in case they do not — ” 

I told my uncle I was going across town to meet friends,” 
said Sybil Ayrton. He will not look for me at luncheon time.” 

And I rarely stop in at lunch hour,” said Warren. So the 
only one will be — ” 

I’m afraid the worry about me won’t be sufficiently strong 
to have them send out searching parties,” said Marjorie, doubt- 
fully. This is dreadful. Are you sure it is a spring lock ? Maybe 
the key — Have you the key ? ” 

I left the one you gave me in the door,” said Warren Armi- 
tage. I am so very brilliant at times — I should have guarded 
against this probability — ^but I did not imagine — ” 

Of course it is my fault,” said Sybil Ayrton, angrily. But 


148 


IN THE BLACK TOWER. 


you had no right to leave me in such a fashion. I told you I was 
frightened before you went away.^’ 

If you had only remained frightened — and sat still/^ thought 
Warren Armitage. But a woman^s curiosity is greater than any 
other — Aloud he said^ It can^t be helped now. Miss Ayrton, 
and it is through my blunder that this has occurred. So we’ll all 
have to put up with it.” 

I might as well share the blame with you if it does any good,” 
said Marjorie. She laughed a little and it seemed odd to hear a 
laugh in that place. The sound of it as it echoed through the cor- 
ridor awed her, and she subsided. 

Well, I’ll go get the taper,” said Warren, and see if I can 
find a ledge of some sort where we can sit down. We can’t stand 
up like this for any length of time.” 

Sybil clung to his arm desperately. 

Don’t go,” she beseeched. Don’t ! I am dreadfully fright- 
ened. Who knows what will happen — ” 

Nothing can happen to you now. We are — all of us — a great 
deal too safe.” 

Let me get the taper,” said Marjorie. I am not afraid.” 

A curious expression shot across Warren Armitage’s face. 

Very well,” he said. Here are the matches.” 

Poor Marjorie’s heart was beating fast as she entered the inner 
vault. She struck a light timorously. 

God is here just the same,” she kept saying over and over. 

He is right here with me — He won’t let anything happen to me.” 
She stooped, felt about on the fioor for the slender taper and found 
it, lighting it before the match burned out. As she straightened 
up, she saw, right above the little stone casket, the name Anthony 
Armitage.” 

Anthony ! ” she said. There — ^that is a good omen. Dear 


IN THE BLACK TOWER. 


149 


St. Anthony, save us now. We are truly lost if some one does not 
come to our aid. And you, his poor little namesake, surely you 
are in heaven — you will help us also.^^ When she came out into the 
corridor her husband saw the quiet satisfaction in her face. 

Give me the taper,^^ he said. I must hunt around and try 
to make you two more comfortable.^^ 

I am tired to death, said Sybil. 

You can go — we are not afraid,^^ said Marjorie. 

His search was rewarded ; he called to them from the other side 
of the vault, and both girls groped their way toward him. They 
were becoming accustomed to the semi-darkness now. Warren had 
found a stone ledge jutting out about a foot from the wall — for 
what purpose originally meant there was no v/ay of telling. Sybil 
sank down with a sigh of relief. 

The trouble is, will we hear at this side if they call ? said 
Warren, musingly. Theyhl have to row over to the island to 
get the boat — and they may think . . . 

He hesitated a moment. Queer thoughts filled his brain. 
There was more danger attached to this imprisonment than lie 
would like to weigh aloud. True, they might, after a while, come 
to look for them. That would not be for hours, since no one would 
begin to worry about Warren or Sybil until nightfall. As for 
Marjorie — ^he could no longer suppress the feelings of tenderness 
and compassion that filled him. She was brave — she had proven 
that. As for their marriage — well, she was so young — just twenty. 
What did a girl of twenty know of the world, or of life, or of 
responsibility ? And she was so utterly alone that his heart went 
out to her in a manner he would have deemed impossible three 
months before. 

He wished, then, that Sybil had stayed at home. Perhaps, in 
their hours of imprisonment the girl would open her heart to him 


150 


IN THE BLACK TOWER. 


— ^tell him of her life; let him know her thoughts. ... He 
smiled grimly. Had Sybil stayed at home there would have been 
no imprisonment. 

Thus did his brain weave fancies while his lips were silent. 
When they came searching and found the empty boat, they would 
imagine that an accident had happened — But no. There was the 
open outer gate — ^they would surely see that, and the key in the 
lock. Nevertheless, it would be so long — 

He got to his feet impatiently, and started walking up and 
down, his footsteps falling with a hollow ring on the stpne floor. 
The two girls exchanged no word — ^but Sybil had drawn nearer to 
her companion as if seeking comfort, and in the twilight she could 
see that Marjorie smiled at her in a gentle, encouraging way. 
They were silent what seemed a long time. Then Sybil spoke. 

ArenT you frightened ? she asked, under her breath. 

I ? asked Marjorie. Why should I be frightened ? 

It is so quiet ; it is so silent — not a sound. And the dead 
are here.^’ 

The poor dead,^^ whispered Marjorie. A little boy whose 
soul is in heaven, surely ; and the dust of a man and woman, who, 
God willing, have found peace and comfort in a happier country 
She put out her hand and clasped it about SybiTs, who lost cour- 
age at the touch and began to cry — softly, but enough to annoy the 
man, who stopped now to look at them. He could see them plainly. 
Sybil had buried her face on Marjorie’s shoulder — and Marjorie, 
with tender pity, bent over her. 

What is the matter ? ” he asked abruptly, vexedly — and then : 

There is no use in crying, Miss Ayrton. It won’t do one bit of 
good.” 

There is no use in your walking up and down, either,” said 
Marjorie, pointedly. It won’t do one bit of good.” 


IN THE BLACK TOWER. 


151 


I beg your pardon/^ he said, lifting his head in air with a 
movement of displeasure. 

Marjorie smiled. 

Don^t/^ she said. I. never met any one quite so easily 
offended as you are. You should bear in mind that different peo- 
ple have different ways of showing emotion. I read a long time 
ago a story in the Spanish for my aunt — She paused and bit her 
lip, remembering SybiFs ignorance of her story — for a relative 
of mine. Come, sit down here — it will remind you of this scene. 
There is a happening in it almost like this very one.^^ 

So she began, in a sweet and soft voice, the relation of the story 
she had read. 

Sybil sat up after a while to listen, and Warren, leaning for- 
ward, rcvsted his elbow on his knee and his head on his hand, look- 
ing up at her. There was no striving for dramatic effect at all — 
tragedy was not in Marjorie^s line. But she had a pretty voice, 
a gentle manner, and could speak in a quaint little way that in- 
dividualized her utterances. They did not interrupt her, for she 
made the story a living one. Warren Armitage heard little of it. 
He was looking at his wife^s face — he was listening — and above 
all, he was understanding the unselfishness of the spirit that bade 
her lay aside her own feelings and try to help them to bear cap- 
tivity. The moments flew. 

And that was the end,^^ said Marjorie. And I was sorry to 
come to the end, and I know you are. They were married and 
they lived happily ever after.’^ 

^^It.is very pretty,^^ said Sybil. ^^But I doubt the living 
happily ever after. Or that might have happened in those days. 
Not in these.^^ 

Why not? asked Marjorie. 

They do not live happily ever after, now,^^ said Sybil. Not 


152 


IN THE BLACK TOWER. 


in modern times. Marriage is merely — Well, a married woman 
has greater advantages, more liberty — 

ISTot if she loves her husband, said Marjorie. 

Love,^^ and Sybil laughed, looking at Warren Armitage. 

There is no such thing. I donT believe in it. There is mutual 
attraction. If social advantages are equal, this attraction can 
deepen into affection — or the reverse. It doesnT matter which, 
though the first is more comfortable. And if social advantages are 
not even, it is easy enough to get rid of the attraction.^^ 

That is only from the lips out,^^ said Marjorie. You could 
not be a woman and not believe in love. Every woman believes in 
love — no matter what she says or thinks.^^ 

Do you ? asked Sybil curiously. Do you honestly mean 
to say that you believe in it ? 

I honestly mean to say just that,^^ said Marjorie. No 
woman should marry a man unless she loves him, excepting — 

Go on,^^ said Warren Armitage this time, in a cold voice. 
SybiFs words had hurt his pride, and he would seek greater hurt 
from his wife^s lips now. Excepting — 

Marjorie crimsoned. 

There may be circumstances in which one’s feelings, one’s 
ideals have to be set aside — ” 

That is a poor argument,” said Sybil. One’s feelings, one’s 
ideals ! What are they when one’s future is in question ? ” 

I know a case where one’s future v/as not in question,” said 
Marjorie, in a low voice. It is not a nice tale. Shall I tell it ? ” 
She was sorely tempted then. Her husband caught her hand. 
Tell it,” he said, if you are not afraid.” 

Afraid?” Marjorie smiled. ^^hTo; I am not afraid. It is 
about a girl — an ordinary girl. She wasn’t very good or very bad 
— just ordinary ; and there was a man whom her father wished her 


IN THE BLACK TOWER. 


153 


to marry. He had put this man under great obligations to him, 
very, very great — and in order to be repaid for some of these obli- 
gations^ he wanted this man to marry his girl, he said, because 
then he would leave her in good hands.^^ 

Warren understood the veiling of the harsher part of the story 
— intended for Sybil's ears. He was a good father,^^ went on 
Marjorie. But the girl would not marry the man. She refused 
him — absolutely ; would have nothing to do with him. Then the 
father thought in his own mind that he would see that she acted 
for her benefit. He told her he was a criminal; that the young 
man had knowledge of this and insisted on the marriage as the 
price of his silence. Still she would not. Then he said that he 
could and would get out of it — ^that he would commit suicide. He 
was not religious, and he was careless enough to do that, you see, 
and he frightened the girl, so that she made up her mind — 

He was an infernal scoundrel, burst forth Warren Armi- 

tage. 

Marjorie shrugged her shoulders. 

It is a story ; isnT it ? asked Sybil. 

I believe it is true,^^ said Marjorie. It was told to me for 
truth.^^ 

Did she marry him ? asked the other girl. 

I think — so. I am not altogether clear on that point. I be- 
lieve she married him.^^ 

Why, of course — and then it all came out, and husband and 
wife promptly proceeded to fall in love with each other.^^ 

That would be — ^very nice,^^ said Marjorie. If it were pos- 
sible.^^ 

^^Why couldnT it be possible asked Warren Armitage, 
roughly. Was the husband such a prig? ’’ 

Sometimes. And he was cranky — as a bear. IsnT that what 


154 


IN THE BLACK TOWER, 


they say ? She was afraid of him^ I think, very often. She would 
scarcely dare to speak to him.^^ 

Good heavens ! said Armitage. 

^^If she came into a room, he looked np at her — like this.^^ 
Marjorie drew her brows down in a scowl or an imperfect imita- 
tion of one. And when he looked at her — it was ngly, like this.^’ 
Again the imitation — down-drawn lips this time. Or if she 
spoke to him he would never hear the first time. And the second 
it was so much trouble to have to turn his head — ^this way, slow 
like this — to listen.’^ 

The wife, I suppose, was all attention,’^ said Warren Armi- 
tage. He didnT think he had married a mummy, poor fellow, 
at first, not he.^^ 

That was when she didnT' know,^’ said Marjorie. 

Of course she didnT tell him when she found out, did she? 

No — she did not like to,^^ confessed the girl. 

Well, do you know what ought to be done with that father ? 
He should have a stone tied to his heels and be thrown into the 
bottom of a river somewhere. That would be too good for him.^^ 

I donT believe the law allows that now,^^ remarked Marjorie. 

I canT understand a word you two are saying,^^ said Sybil in 
a petulant tone. You are both talking at random. And I am 
tired to death and cold. I am chilled through.’^ 

It isn’t the warmest spot in the world — let’s get up and walk 
a bit/’ said Marjorie. 


THE LESSON HE LEARNED. 


155 


CHAPTEE XIV. 

THE LESSON HE LEARNED. 

So it was, with almost childish attempts at pleasantry, with 
foolish words, and more foolish banter, that Marjorie Armitage 
proved herself to her husband. He had never, in all his life, so felt 
the irksomeness of restraint — it had never galled him until now. 
But SybiFs presence and SybiFs ignorance of their true relations 
kept hack the questions that sprang involuntarily to his lips. 

Fortunately, air found ingress to the vault, perhaps from 
crevices higher up; the danger of suffocation did not threaten, 
but it was growing very dark; the dim light from the roof had 
gradually faded, and, as it did, the terror of Sybil Ayrton knew 
no bounds. She clung hysterically to Marjorie and to Warren in 
turn. The day seemed never ending. At nine o^clock that night 
they felt as if they had been imprisoned ages. Warren was afraid' 
to allow the taper to burn out altogether; fortunately he had 
plenty of matches, so that every once in a while> when the darkness 
became too oppressive, he lit one, thus momentarily relieving the 
gloom. He was annoyed and exceedingly hungry, and the thought 
of spending that night in the vault with the two girls was any- 
thing but pleasant. Mar j oriels efforts to enliven the hours of 
waiting had subsided long since. It had been a one-sided striv- 
ing and the responses inadequate. She sat very still, however, 
conscious of a growing weakness, a bodily fatigue that frightened 


156 


THE LESSON HE LEARNED. 


her. She felt how hard it must be for Warren Armitage, and she 
would not say a single word to add to his misery — which was evi- 
dent. Sybil, too, was very trying, and Mar j oriels exhaustion would 
not have been so great were it not for the terror-stricken girl, who 
had no control over her fright. She moaned piteously. 

Try to rest just a little bit,^^ whispered Marjorie, at last. 

We won’t have to stay here much longer now — it is late, we have 
not been in to dinner, and they are probably searching for us — ” 

You have said that fifteen times,” said Sybil. I don’t be- 
lieve they will ever find us. . After a week, perhaps, when we no 
longer need them. Oh ! ” and she shuddered, putting her arms 
about the girl. I don’t want to die. It isn’t fair that I should 
die now ! I am too young ! I will not die.” 

She broke into violent sobbing once more. Warren Armitage 
moved restlessly. He- could not see them — but the incoherent 
words set his teeth on edge. 

Shall I light the taper again, Marjorie ? ” he asked. 

Ho,” she said. Hot unless you wish to. Miss Ayrton, 
won’t you put your head down here on my lap and compose your- 
self just a little? You will be ill.” 

I can’t rest — what is the use of — ” 
cc Try,” said Marjorie, persuasively. Ho one knows what one 
can do until one tries. Put your head down here — ^yes, that is the 
v/ay.” 

She began stroking the girl’s hair with a soft and tender mo- 
tion. After a while Sybil spoke in a calmer voice. 

You are very strong, aren’t you. Miss Chapin?” 

On the contrary,” said Marjorie. 

I mean — strong-minded.” 

Marjorie laughed. 

Ho — I am not. Weak, if an3rthing.” 


THE LESSON HE LEARNED, 


157 


But how can you contain yourself ? Aren^t you afraid ? 
She gasped quickly. Afraid like me ? Afraid of — death ? Oh, 
I am so afraid of death ! 

Do you ever pray ? asked Marjorie. Sybil did not answer 
immediately. After a while she said, in a lower tone, Occasion- 
ally. I am not a church member. I have never had time — 

You, Mr. Armitage? You are a Eoman Catholic — as I am. 
Do you ever pray ? 

Warren^s voice sounded hollow in the big vault. 

Occasionally, as Miss Ayrton says.^^ 

Prayer is the secret of all strength,^^ said Marjorie. And 
if you two aren’t praying now the sooner you start in the better, 
and the sooner we’ll get out of here. You can’t expect God to do 
anything for you if you don’t ask Him.” 

Have you asked Him, Marjorie? ” said her husband. 

I have been asking Him all day,” she answered. All day 
long.” 

If He doesn’t listen to you. He won’t listen to us.” 

The prayer of a sinner is sometimes heard when that of the 
just man prevaileth naught,” said Marjorie. There was a hint of 
raillery in her tones. 

You can be cheerful at the least provocation.” 

I wish,” and her voice broke, but she continued so quickly 
that neither noticed it, I wish you would give me provocation, 
then. I can’t be cheerful if. you don’t help me. I^Tiere are you ? ” 

I’m not sure myself. Somewhere on this stone bench. But 
rest assured that, wherever I am, I am most miserable. Shall I 
strike another match and look at my watch? That seems to be 
the only amusement I can think of at present.” 

Don’t. Miss Ayrton is falling asleep.” 

^^No; I am not,” said Sybil. ^^But I feel — better. It does 


168 


TEE LESSON HE LEARNED. 


me good to hear yon talk. Yon have snch a confident manner. 
Miss Chapin.^^ 

I am confident. This is only a little trial which we mnst 
snffer. Maybe God shnt ns in here to keep ns away from greater 
danger. One never can tell. If yon had ridden across town the 
horse might have bolted, or an accident befallen yon that wonld 
mean death, perhaps. The same way with Mr. Armitage. What 
in the world is the nse of repining ? 

Yo nse. Only that repining nnder annoyances is cnstomary,” 
said Warren Armitage. 

That^s it exactly. Cnstom. If we three had been told this 
morning that we were to meet onr deaths to-day if we did not lock 
onrselves in here I think there isnT one ont of the three who 
wonldnT have come cheerfnlly.^^ 

The tronble is,^^ said Sybil, in a drowsy voice, that yon 
canT prove that sort of reasoning. Snrmise isnT of mnch ac- 
connt.^^ 

Yon might ask God to send yon a special messenger,^^ said 
Marjorie, with a note of sarcasm in her voice. Bnt her hand, 
nevertheless, did not relax the soft stroking that was soothing her 
companion's nerves — and, indeed, indncing slnmber. 

There was a long silence after that. At last Warren Armitage 
strnck a match and its light flared np. He looked at his watch. 
It was after eleven. And from that he looked at the two girls. 
Sybil was asleep, her head on Marjorie’s lap, while Marjorie leaned 
back against the wall. He canght a glimpse of her before the light 
died down. 

Yon shall not sit there in that stiff, strained attitnde,” he 
whispered. Move forward a little — no, I want yon to lean 
against me — Yon poor little lonely sonl ! ” 

The words had been on the tip of his tongne all day. He 


THE LESSON HE LEARNED. 


159 


said them now, with tenderest feeling in his voice — and the girl, 
listening, knew that the tenderness was genuine. 

Do not worry about me — I am comfortable enough,^’ she 

said. 

Do you really hate me so very much ? he asked. 

I ? That is not fair. You know I do not hate you. Why 
should 

Perhaps it would be better if you did. I might be able to 
teach you liking.^^ 

I like you,’^ said Marjorie. Oh, I do like you. And *t 
must have been very hard on you — we wonT talk about that part of 
our lives now. Wait until we get out.^^ 

Little girl,^^ he said, supposing — do not be frightened, dear 
— but supposing that help comes — too late.^^ 

There is that possibility ? 

Possibility — ^yes. Probability — ^no. We must prepare for 
the worst, and if it doesnT come — 

For myself I am not afraid,’^ said Marjorie, slowly. I 
think T would gradually grow weaker and weaker until the end. 
But it would be terrible for — ^her. Do not let us talk of it. They 
will surely come — in the morning, perhaps — 

Perhaps,^^ he made answer. 

It was my fault ! If I had waited ! But I could not move 
from here until I showed you. I was fretting myself for fear 
they were not there — Aunt Mercedes went away so long ago. It 
is simply providential.^’ 

Did you love your aunt very much ? ” 

Very, very much. She was a mother to me.” 

Her memory has been an execrated one in our household 
since I can remember — never mentioned without a word of scorn. 
Tales of her extravagance, of her flight and its cause, of the 


160 


THE LESSON HE LEARNED, 


stealing of the jewels — all those things are bywords. And now I 
will learn her story — ^}^ou will tell it to me ? 

Not now/’ she said. But I will let yon read the record of 
her life that she left me. And one thing — 

^^Yes?’^ 

Yonr mother was very cruel in those past days, very cruel. 
She calumniated the woman she hated, the mistress of Armitage. 
I shall prove my aunt^s innocence by the man who is your mother’s 
most honored guest. Senator Trumbull. Yet I would wish to do 
this without bringing the full disgrace of her black lies home to 
your mother, just because she is your mother.” 

For my sake, Marjorie? ” 

For — my husband’s sake.” 

Your husband’s sake ! ” His voice shook. What have I 
done for you, ever, that you should consider me? ” he asked with 
sudden self-scorn. 

Nevertheless, I am your wife,” she answered, steadily. 

And is your conception of duty so high ? ” 

Yes; my conception of duty is just that high.” 

^^Will you — ^teach me?” 

If you are willing to learn,” she answered, but the question 
made her heart beat rapidly. It depends upon yourself. And 
your religion has meant so little — ^heretofore.” 

It has,” he confessed. But you will teach me? ” 

Gladly,” and she smiled in the darkness. Putting out one 
cold hand she touched his shoulder, his sleeve; her fingers found 
his and rested in them, confidingly. It was the movement of a 
child, trusting and confident. 

Marjorie,” he said at last. 

I am listening.” 

^^We have been married four months — and you have never 
kissed me. Will you kiss me now? ” 


THE LESSON HE LEARNED. 


161 


said Marjorie. I can^t see yon. And you’d have to 
strike a light to find me.” 

You are here — right here with me.” 

But not to kiss you^” and she laughed. Under happier 
circumstances — When you have learned your lesson a little, and 
are in a state of mind to be properly grateful for the favor.” 

I shall be very grateful for it now.” 

Yot half as grateful as you will be,” was the prompt reply. 

And besides, I don’t want to have the remembrance of a tomb 
flavoring any future romance — ” 

I thought you were not superstitious ? ” 

You thought rightly. But it is not proper to kiss a person 
with whom you are so slightly acquainted.” 

I think, differently situated, you would prove a delightful 
companion.” 

Implying that at present — ” 

Implying nothing of the sort. You know what I mean. By 
and by when things have straightened out, and this husband and 
wife come to their proper senses — You have been under a cloud 
so long, little girl. That is what I mean.” 

She sighed. Sybil’s weight across her knees hurt her, yet she 
dared not move. Any physical pain was preferable to the nerve- 
annoying moans and lamentations of Sybil awake. 

You are tired,” said Warren Armitage. I am so sorry — I 
wish I could help you. Do you think you could move — ” 

Listen ! ” said Marjorie — and a quiver of hope seemed to run 
through her whole frame. Listen ! ” 

Her husband gave a violent start. He distinctly heard, at that 
moment, the sound of some one shaking the outer gate. The next 
moment a faint halloa reached his ears. He sprang to his feet 
and rushed to the other side of the vault. 


162 


THE LESSON HE LEARNED. 


Turn the key ! he shouted. Twice to the left — all the way 

around — then pull. That is it. Marjorie ! Sybil ! 

But Sybils startled into wakefulness at the first sound of his 
excited voice^ was already on her feet. Warren Armitage stood 
at the door until he saw it swing wide^ and felt the cool^ fresh air 
on his face. Four of the servants were outside. Bidding them 
wait, he plunged once more into the blackness. Sybil, dazed and 
frightened, was calling him. 

Where is Marjorie? he asked. Come, let us get out of 
here. Go ahead. Miss Ayrton. There — ^you can see now.^^ For 
the rays of a lantern penetrated the gloom. Marjorie ! Mar- 
jorie, child ! ” 

But the girl who had been so brave all those dreary and long 
hours had given way at last, and lay white and senseless against 
the damp wall. 

There had been no great alarm felt for any of the missing 
ones until dinner that evening — when the absence of all three 
caused simultaneous comment. Mrs. Armitage questioned the 
servants. One was despatched to the village where Miss Ayrton 
was supposed to meet her friends, returning an hour later with 
the information that she had not been seen. Warren Armitage 
had not kept an appointment made for eleven o^clock that morn- 
ing, and as he was exceedingly punctual, his failure to do so 
caused surmise even at the time. Anne Apperson, troubled all 
that afternoon, now put in an appearance. The young lady had 
gone out that morning and had not come back. 

Warren canT have eloped with the two of them,^^ said 
Senator Trumbull, with an attempt at facetiousness that did not 
hide his real anxiety. I^m afraid something has happened, that^s 
all/^ 


THE LESSON HE LEARNED. 


163 


So he organized the searching-parties, and from eight o’clock 
until eleven Armitage was pretty well beaten out. The last place 
thought of was the Black Tower — and when Mr. Hatch suggested 
that, they were inclined not to consider it. They had to come 
hack to it, in the end, however. The disappearance of the boat 
gave rise to the most serious conjectures. It took some time to 
arrive at a decision. At last one of the men, braver and more 
determined than the rest, resolved to swim over to the tower and 
see if he could find any traces of the boat or its occupants. When 
he found the skiff rocking idly on the water, found it tied, too, to 
one of the iron railings, his terror got the better of him. He re- 
leased it at once and rowed back to shore for the three men who 
were helping him conduct the search. 

Don’t think it’s any use,” he said. Something’s happened 
over there, that’s sure. Probably they’re drowned.” 

Did you look at the tower gate ? ” he was asked. 

Ho — ^he had forgotten. He did not say he had been too scared. 
However, that meant that the three piled into the boat with him 
immediately, and rowed back again. 

The rest we know. With tender hands Warren Armitage 
lifted Marjorie into the rowboat — ^his first anxiety being to get 
both girls under shelter at once. He was much concerned when 
he looked at his wife — ^he had not known she was so very fragile. 
He bent his head. He could not hear her breathe. What if she 
died now ? I think I would grow gradually weaker and weaker 
until the end,” she had said — and a sharp pain shot through his 
heart. If she died now! 

I need her to teach me,” he said, under his breath. God, 
leave her here — just a while longer. She must teach me what I 
have never learned — a lesson not too late to learn, I hope, 0 Lord 
— dependence on Your guiding hand.” 


164 


THE LESSON HE LEARNED. 


It was a heartfelt prayer, indeed. Warren Armitage had 
learned another lesson besides trust in God in the tomb of his 
ancestress. He had learned, for the first time in his life, the lesson 
of true love. 


A LITTLE WORLD WELL LOST: 


165 


CHAPTEE XV. 

A LITTLE WORLD WELL LOST.'"^ 

What kind of a game are you playing, Warren? 

It was Dean who spoke — Dean Armitage in person, and he 
walked with grave face beside his brother down the avenue of 
locusts that led to the Black Tower. It was the afternoon fol- 
lowing their adventure — and Warren was the only one of the three 
who had been able to put in an appearance all that day. Both 
Marjorie and Sybil were ill, the former too shaken to be seen, 
much as her husband desired it. 

A game ? Warren frowned at the word. Why do you 
ask?^^ 

Why do I ask ? I came here because I had business with you, 
expecting, incidentally, to meet — your wife. Xearly blurted out 
the whole business before the Hatches, and when mother spoke 
of Miss Chapin — Whose doings, Warren 

Mother suggested it — you know how she loves any one re- 
lated to the Estradas. And Marjorie seemed so set on coming as 
Miss Chapin that I gave in. I wish I had put my foot down on 
the whole thing in the beginning.^^ 

And Miss Ayrton here, too ! Dean whistled. What a 
complication ! Does — she know? 

Wlm — Marjorie?^^ Warren laughed shortly. ^^Xo; she 
doesnT. And it isn’t necessary for her to know. It doesn’t make a 
bit of difference whether Sybil Ayrton is here or not. Dean.” 

Dean looked at him curiously. 


166 


A LITTLE WORLD WELL LOST: 


You honestly do not mind? 

I honestly do not mind. Somehow, the knowledge that a 
woman could turn a man down the way she did me cured me of a 
good many nonsensical ideas. The sayings and actions I had 
thought irresistible in the past now look mighty like affectation, 
and havenT a bit of effect on me. And one other thing — the day 
you put me in old Chapin^s way — the day I proceeded to offer my- 
self as a victim on the altar of matrimony in your stead was — 
well, it will turn out to be, God helping, the happiest day of my 
life.^’ 

Good heavens ! said Dean, in genuine astonishment at the 
earnestness in his brother’s face. Good heavens ! ” 

I’ve got a hard job before me. Dean. Marjorie doesn’t care 
a rap for me. Inclined to be dutiful and all that. You know 
what ? She’s the sort of a girl would let a man or a woman walk 
all over her without resistance — or seeming to resist; meek and 
gentle, etc. But she’d have her own thoughts, underneath, and 
her own motives, and her own ideas. And, by Jove! it’s worth 
while to get close to a girl like her and understand what she’s 
thinking about. It’s worth while. Dean.” 

I don’t know what to say,” said Dean. ‘ 

I don’t want you to say anything,” said Warren. She’s 
had a rather rough time of it between us all — Fate’s been playing 
a game of battledore and shuttlecock with her. But if God is good 
enough to let her love me — well. I’ll show her.” 

That’s twice you’ve brought the Lord into it as if you really 
knew Him,” said Dean, and he laughed. What has come over 
the spirit of your dream ? ” 

Marjorie,” said Marjorie’s husband. I’m going to be a 
different man from this out — ^but I won’t talk of it. Let’s get at 
your affairs. Where are you at ? Where is Marion ? ” 


A LITTLE WORLD WELL LOST: 


167 


Stopping down at the hotel/^ 

Stopping down at the hotel ! What sort of an arrangement 
is that ? 

She doesn^t like mother. Mother was rather disagreeable 
when she found out that Marion had no money of her own. And 
Marion isn^t one to stand any more of it — she had enough to go 
through in Boston. I don^t blame her either/^ said Dean, hotly. 

When I think how she waited and waited for me, and how I put 
her off from one month to another with promises, and when I dis- 
cover — his face flushed now — every day of my life, Warren, 
what a great help a good woman can be to a man! By Jove, if 
you’re going to be different, you — ^how do 3^011 think I am ever 
going to make up for the past to Marion ? ” 

Was mother very disagreeable ? ” asked Warren, sympa- 
thetically. 

Oh, just a little bit cutting, but Marion didn’t want any 
more of it, so I let her have her own way about staying in the 
hotel. Mother’s fond enough of a fellow [Dean was his mother’s 
favorite], but I suppose she just can’t help being sour at times. 
Let’s drop that part and get. to business. I’ve got a great bit of 
news for you. Baldwin has sent me on to ’Frisco — to open up a 
branch office there — and on the way I thought I’d see you and 
ask you just how to keep moving. I want to do the right thing. 
He’s left a good deal to my judgment, because I’m your brother, 
you know — more than he would have left if he knew me as I really 
am—” . 

Isn’t Baldwin flne ! When did you get it ? ” 

I got word here at Armitage three days before you came. 
Was told to wait orders at Priorville — and Marion was mad to get 
awa}^, so I took that as an excuse. We’ll have to do some quick 
moving now, or people will talk about her not coming home. A 


168 


A LITTLE WORLD WELL LOST: 


long letter from Baldwin has just reached me^ and here I^m on my 
way to ^Frisco to settle down for good and all/^ 

^‘^Youhe in earnest^ then, Dean?’^ 

Never knew what earnestness meant until this last few 
months, Warren. You showed me.^^ 

I showed you ! and Warren laughed. Don^t say that. 
Dean — I^m a mighty poor teacher. There^s something wrong with 
the whole lot of us, I^m thinking — something lacking. When do 
you start ? 

I promised Marion to go back at six o’clock. I’d like to meet 
your wife, Warren.” 

She’s had an awful shaking up. I don’t know whether she’ll 
be able to see any one — ” 

I heard about it. What made you go into the old vault, 
anyhow ? Queer thing to do.” 

Yes ; it was,” acknowledged Warren. It would have been 
all right, only for Miss Ayrton. Of course, accidents can’t be 
helped. Let’s get to business now, Dean.” 

Even with Dean to keep him company, and so much business 
to discuss, it was a long afternoon to Warren, anxious as never 
before in his life to see Marjorie. She was resting,” Anne said. 

No; she was not ill — not now; just resting.” 

She bade you to tell me that, I suppose? ” said Warren, in 
his curt manner. Now I’ll give you a message for her. If she 
isn’t able to come down this evening, she need not — but my brother 
Dean is here — intends to leave in a few hours, and must ‘see her 
before he goes. So we’ll call on her. Go ahead now, Anne, and 
bring me back her answer.” 

So Anne went, returning with the word that Marjorie would be 
glad to see Mr. Warren and his brother any time they wanted to 
come. Dean was with his mother. Just as Warren, with a satis- 


A LITTLE WORLD WELL LOSTJ 


169 


fied expression on his dark face, stopped to call him, one of the 
servants came np. 

There is a gentleman in the drawing-room, sir,^^ he said. 

He asked first for Mrs. Warren Armitage, and when we said she 
was not here, demanded to see yon at once.^^ 

Warren nodded. I’ll go to him,” he said. And in case Mr. 
Dean comes along yon tell him not to go ont. I want him.” 

Yes, sir.” 

Morris Chapin was standing in the middle of the room when 
Warren Armitage entered. He swnng aronnd on the yonng man 
fiercel}^ 

Where is my danghter ? ” he demanded. Wliat have yon 
done with my danghter Marjorie ? ” 

Althongh mnch astonished at this sndden appearance of a man 
he thought miles away, Warren Armitage looked coolly at the 
flnshed and angry face ; the contempt he conld not disgnise sprang 
to his own. 

Yonr danghter ? ” he asked. The girl who was yonr dangh- 
ter is Mrs. Warren Armitage now, Mr. Chapin. And a hnsband is 
snpposed to be able to take care of his wife ! ” 

The portly man moved nearer to him, his eyes snapping dan- 
geronsly. 

Yon can’t ride rongh-shod over me, yonng man,” he said. 

I demand to know where Marjorie is now — I want to know this 
very instant. Yonr servants declare she is not in the honse — ^yet 
yon left Yew York together. I shall see her, hear from her at 
once — ^this very instant — ” 

Yot so lond,” said Warren Armitage. Yot so lond, Mr. 
Chapin. We are not in the habit of attracting attention even in 
onr qnarrels at Armitage Hall. May I beg of yon to sit down ? ” 
The irony in the calm voice, the ntter fearlessness of the hand- 


170 


A LITTLE WORLD WELL LOST. 


some face convinced Morris Chapin that Warren Armitage had 
himself well in hand^ and that it would be better to listen to him. 
He turned to the chair that the young man designated. Once 
Morris Chapin had held the Armitages and their honor in his 
hands; he sat beside this Armitage now, furiously angry, sputter- 
ing, but conscious that power had escaped him. 

Your daughter is here,^^ said Warren Armitage, in an even 
tone. At her own request, she is known as Miss Chapin.^^ 
^^What!” 

^^Miss Marjorie Chapin — a relative — on a visit to my 
mother — 

Idiot ! said Morris Chapin. Little fool ! He was 

furiously angry. To please your fine mother, I suppose ? and 
he sneered. Or at your request? Were you ashamed of her? 

And if I was ashamed of her ? What was to prevent my being 
so ? asked Warren Armitage. 

Yo man need be ashamed of Marjorie Chapin.’^ 

That is true. Hot because she is your daughter, but because 
she has some of the Estrada blood in her veins. Perhaps that is 
the reason ? ^^ 

You are insulting me — 

Insulting you ? And such a thing is possible ? By heavens, 
Chapin, but 3^ou are sensitive to insult. Why, there ought to be 
a place for men like you — a place of punishment — When I 
think of it ! He sprang to his feet, with blazing eyes. When 
I think of it, I^d like to take you by the throat and choke the life 
out of you, you — ^you — He gasped over the word. ^^What 
infernal motive prompted you to sell your only child in such an 
ignoble manner? Ambition! What weak, miserable ambition 
could such a scoundrel as you know, sufficient to so play upon the 
tender feelings of such a girl as Marjorie — Pshaw ! 


A LITTLE WORLD WELL LOST: 


171 


He drew back, quickly, afraid of the passion that set his 
fingers working. Chapin cowered before him. 

You let her come to me, poor child — believing that her father 
would commit self-murder if she did not comply with the demands 
of a man as despicable as himself, a man who wished to marry her 
because he wanted her money. AVhat did you expect to gain by it ? 
Entrance to Armitage? Did you believe her of so forgiving a 
spirit that she would welcome you here after — she knew the 
truth 

Still no reply. 

Or did you think that I would never find it out ? That we 
would never exchange confidences? Come — ^tell me — 

I wanted to see her here — I wanted her to be mistress of 
Armitage,^^ said Morris Chapin, doggedly. 

^^Then you reckoned without your daughter. She is not 
anxious to assume that honor.^^ 

I can stand that — I can stand anything, so that I know. 
And your mother knows, too; doesnT she? It may be an effort of 
memory for her to recall Morris Chapin, but she wonT have to 
try very long. Would you like to hear more? I am one of the 
valley people, Warren Armitage— 

One of the valley people — a son of a poor squatter in the 
valley below Armitage.^^ He chuckled. If I never saw my 
daughter again, I^m well revenged. Your mother once set the 
dogs on me from here. At that time, as you can well imagine, the 
Chapins had neither land nor money, poor as proverbial church 
mice, looking up to the Armitages as something grand and great 
and far above them. That was the heyday of Armitage Hall, 
shortly before your Uncle Malcolm^s wife came here. Poor as the 
poorest people are, their hearts are liberal, and we had one other 
inmate of our home — Beatrice Estrada.^^ 


172 


A LITTLE WORLD WELL LOST: 


He laughed, seeing the interest deepen on Warren Armitage’s 
face. 

It was a queer turn of fortune’s wheel that brought Mercedes 
Estrada to Armitage Hall — and her niece, her only brother’s child, 
whose whereabouts she had long been ignorant of, to the poverty- 
stricken cottage in the valley below. I did not know this until 
afterward, or things might have been different. I came, one day, 
to ask Mr. Malcolm Armitage to give my father the office of care- 
taker on the grounds below the ford. He was not here — ^he was 
away on his wedding-trip. Your mother listened to me, and 
without a word, turned to call her dogs. That was her answer. 
I was driven from Armitage. Perhaps the lady was in bad humor, 
perhaps she had just heard of the marriage that meant so much 
loss to her. At any rate, it was an exhibition of ill-temper that 
turned that boy against her and against all the world for the time 
being.” He laughed. Do you think I have paid your mother 
back? What joy it will be to tell her — as I mean to — ^that it is 
the daughter of one of the pauper valley-people who will succeed 
her at Armitage ! ” 

Warren did not interrupt him, seeing that there was more to 
come. 

The man leaned forward impressively. 

Beatrice Estrada, poor, homeless, gentle, beautiful, was one 
of our household. What more natural that I, growing in knowl- 
edge of the world — and gathering money, too, as I went along — 
should marry her ? I did so. I never lost sight of the Armitages. 
My business called me east. Perhaps I was interested in the 
Spanish wife of Malcolm Armitage because my wife was Spanish. 
I was kept informed of all that transpired here. I knew every- 
thing. When Mr. Malcolm found his wife after her hurried 
flight, I, too, learned where she was, and resolved to be of service 


A LITTLE WORLD WELL LOST: 


173 


to her. Imagine my exultation^ my surprise when I heard her 
name — Estrada ! 

So she turned out to he my wife^s aunt, sister of Miguel 
Estrada, her qjder by fifteen years, and my wife^s father. I was 
glad to place myself at her disposal. At the death of Marjorie’s 
mother she became an inmate of my home, its virtual mistress. 
That is the story of my connection with your family.” 

Warren smiled sarcastically. 

Does that excuse the selling of your daughter ? It was a 
noble plan.” 

Warren Armitage,” said Chapin, in a meaning tone. Don’t 
make an enemy out of me. I can be a bad one. For there is a 
greater thing still to come. What Armitage is worth to you you 
can not tell. I Tcnow, I have known it a good many years now. 
Combine with me, man, and I shall help to make you — ” 

Combine with you ! ” Warren Armitage rose to his feet. 

You come at an inopportune moment with your proposal, Chapin. 
Why, I only learned yesterday of the manner in which you 
induced Marjorie to become my wife. Your sense of rectitude 
must be pretty poor — However, I shall not quarrel with you — it 
is too late to do that now. You wish to see Marjorie? ” 

Yes,” said Chapin. 

She is expecting my brother and myself at this moment. I 
will tell her you are here.” 

^^I think it is scarcely necessary to announce me,” said 
Chapin, doggedly, suspiciously. 

That is true,” said Warren, his lips curling. Come, then.” 

The very last person Marjorie expected to see that afternoon 
was her father. She started to her feet when he entered the room, 
her husband holding the door open for him. A week previous 
Warren x\rmitage would not have hesitated about taking his de- 


174 


A LITTLE WORLD WELL LOST: 


parture and leaving father and daughter alone. ISTow he stood at 
the door a moment, looking at Marjorie for dismissal. She held 
out her hand to him. 

Stay/^ she said. Come in — come in here.^^ 

He did so. Morris Chapin’s eyes were fastened on his daugh- 
ter’s face. 

What is the matter,” he asked. You have been ill — and I 
did not know it ? ” 

I have not been ill,” said Marjorie. Through my fault we 
spent a day in the Black Tower of Armitage; we were locked in, 
and my nerves suffered a little shock, I guess. When did you 
come ? ” 

She had no words of welcome ; her tones were cold. 

I arrived this afternoon. Your husband,” he laid sarcastic 
emphasis on the word, tells me that it is your wish to be known 
here as Miss Chapin.” 

Yes — it is my wish.” 

Marjorie,” he said. Do not be afraid to trust me. What 
force or coercion have they put on you — ” 

Marjorie laughed. 

I have never known force or coercion since Tleft the shelter 
of your roof,” she said, pitying my father and despising my 
husband. The tables are turned. I despise my father and pity my 
husband. Oh ! ” she exclaimed, drawing herself to her full height, 
and gazing at him with suddenly crimsoned face. What a thing 
it is to have a human being puppet to one’s will! With what 
threat you terrified me, you know. And then the story you told me 
of my husband’s financial necessities, and the way he took to re- 
lieve himself of them — ^marriage with me ! Through your agency 
I am here — ^mistress of Armitage, virtually — a guest, nominally. 
For what purpose? Eevenge? How could you revenge yourself 


A LITTLE WORLD WELL LOST.' 


175 


by SO weak a means? You^re too shrewd to let snch a motive as 
that urge you to such high-handed measures. And whatever you 
mean to do is to be accomplished because your daughter^ am 
mistress of Armitage! Because your daughter, shall supersede 
her husband^s mother. Well, then,’^ and she smiled scornfully, 
as Miss Chapin I came here to fulfil my aunt’s request to clear 
her in so far as I am capable of doing it before all the little 
world she knew. As Miss Chapin — ” She paused, and repeated 
the words slowly, ^^As Miss Chapin I leave this house, never to 
enter it again while my husband’s mother lives. That a Mrs. 
Warren Armitage exists, people must know, of course. But since 
it is so hateful a thing to Warren Armitage’s mother, she shall 
never have to feel the effects of her existence. That is all.” 

Her father had taken in the full import of these words. He 
stared at her, his mouth fallen, his eyes wide. 

You’re a fool,” he said. What benefit do you think — ” 
Marjorie,” said Warren Armitage, do not say anything 
rashly. You know that such a thing as you declare is im- 
possible — 

Is it?” Marjorie Armitage’s long hours of arguing with 
herself; her long hours of silent communing; her long hours of 
pondering on the problems that made her grave young life, bore 
fruit now in the demeanor with which she turned on the two. 

You have had your day, both of you — my father, in forcing me 
to do his will; my husband, in reminding me of the sacrifice he 
made in taking me. Oh, you both have had your day.” Passion 
quivered in her voice. This is mine. Thank the great God that 
this is mine. I will have none of Armitage — none of it. Armi- 
tage for the Armitages — not for the girl whose father put her 
here, and whose husband, anxious to do his dut}^ would — ” 

Marjorie,” said Warren, look at me — no, not that way. 


176 


“A LITTLE WORLD WELL LOST: 


Give me your hands — let me take them — look at me. Ah, Mar- 
jorie, I love Armitage — I love it dearly. It is dear as my life to 
me. But you! Oh, I have learned a dearer thing, my girl — a 
thing I would teach you, if you will permit me. If you leave 
Armitage, take but your husband with you — and he will count all 
banishment a paradise so that it is brightened by your smile, made 
happy by your voice. Then would Armitage and all that it con- 
tains be a world well lost.^^ 


THE END OF HER MISSION, 


177 


CHAPTER XVL 

THE END OF HER MISSION. 

And at those words, low and earnest and full of feeling, Mar- 
jorie^s heart seemed to bound exultantly. She looked at him with 
a glance that read his soul. Her father was forgotten. 

^^You mean it?^^ she asked. ^^You would give up Armitage 
— for me ? 

I would give up more than Armitage for you,^^ he said. Yes, 
Marjorie.^^ 

She smiled faintly. 

You will take me away — now — as soon as you can — as soon 
as I have settled what there is to settle — 

When you are ready,^^ was the instant response. 

Go, then, and find your mother and Senator Trumbull and 
bring them here — and your brother Dean — 

You are sure you are strong enough to do this, Marjorie? 

Yes,^^ she answered. Besides, it is tormenting me. Have 
you been to the Black Tower to-day ? 

He knew what she meant by the question. 

This morning. I went alone and brought back — 

She bent her head. ^^That is good. Xow will you hasten, 
Warren ? 

Marjorie,^’ said her father, when the young man had left the 
room. You do not intend, of course, to do as you have said — 

About leaving Armitage? Yes, father.^^ 


178 


THE END OF HER MISSION. 


But what nonsense ! The man was much excited. What 
utter nonsense! Think of the joy your going will give to that 
woman, who so domineered over Mercedes Estrada. Think how 
she will exult I You say you loved your aunt — ^you have a queer 
way of showing it.^^ 

I am not shouldering my aunt’s quarrels/’ said Marjorie. 

Yor do I intend to do so. I would not stay here — ^not for all 
the wealth of the world. I can not breathe in the place. If that 
woman has done wrong, her conscience, after to-day, will be her 
worst accuser. I shall not stay here to remind her of things best 
forgotten. Give her a chance to atone by sincere repentance.” 

Bosh ! ” said Morris Chapin. Eepentance ! You can do 
her no greater favor than to leave Armitage.” 

Then I am satisfied to do her that favor.” 

Perhaps if I tell you that she drove me from her doors — 
that she set her dogs on me — ” He ground his teeth together, 
for his plans were failing one by one, and he could have grasped 
this girl and shaken her until his anger was exhausted. Perhaps, 
if I tell you. that I am the son of one of the people whom she 
despised and still despises — that I have hoped to be able to stand 
equal with her some day — that this scheme of mine, your mar- 
riage, has been carried out because I hated her — ^what would you 
say ? ” 

Yothing,” answered Marjorie. ^^I’m not shouldering your 
quarrels either, father. You have brought misery enough on me. 
I am ashamed to think I am your daughter. And that is the 
hardest thing a child can say — ^the very hardest thing. I am 
ashamed of you. Why, if you were poor, in tatters, old, sick, 
miserable, I would love and tend and comfort you. But you are 
mean and without a heart. You have no principle. No wonder 
I am ashamed of you.” 


THE END OF HER MISSION, 179 

He winced a little. The scorn in her voice was genuine. 

You may thank me — 

I shall never thank you for the misery that has been mine 
this last few months — ” 

^^But Marjorie, there^s another reason.^^ 

For what ? 

^^That you should remain at Armitage. Girl, if you knew 
what Armitage contains! If you knew! Your husband would 
be a Croesus — 

And my father ? 

He, also.^^ 

That as a matter of course. Marjorie laughed scornfully. 

Perhaps you are alluding to the Armitage jewels — ^the jewels 
Aunt Mercedes hid away so long ago ? 

ISTo; I am not. I did not know such things were in existence. 
Girl, listen to me. It would be a crime to hesitate now — ^to leave 
Armitage now. You dare not do it.^^ 

I dare and I shall."^^ 

Then, Marjorie, ask Warren Armitage to sell. At least do 
that much. Let him sell me Armitage — and no matter what he 
wants for it — 

Eagerness trembled in his voice. 

I shall not ask him.^^ 

Yet it will be no good to him — ^lie has no money to keep up 
this place. You know that — 

^^DonT be absurd, father. Because I will not stay here has 
nothing to do with him. It will not bother me how often he visits 
Armitage.’^ She smiled sarcastically. There is another motive, 
then, besides revenge? I thought so. It was not revenge tjiat 
prompted you to sell your daughter.^^ 

Listen. If you and he do not consent — if you carry this 


180 


^ ^ THE END OF HER MISSION. 

thing through so stubbornly in your own perverse way, you shall 
never know the secret of Armitage/^ 

I am not exhibiting much curiosity/^ said Marjorie. You 
forget that I shall not see Armitage. Let us drop the subject 
now. It is wearying me.^^ She raised her head to listen. Come 
in. Ah, Senator Trumbull ! as the gentleman stood hesitating in 
the doorway. Pardon me for putting you to so much trouble — ” 
Then as he came over to her, holding out his hand with a cordial 
smile : Permit me to introduce my father.^’ 

WonT you please sit down ? she went on, when the two 
men had acknowledged the introduction. This is more private 
than the drawing-room — and we can be sure of having no eaves- 
droppers. I promised you a message from my aunt a few days 
ago — and I wish to give it now — just as soon as Mrs. Armitage 
comes.’^ 

The Senator was mystified, but much too well-bred to show it. 
You are recovering from the effects of your incarceration of • 
yesterday ? 

Fairly well. I am still a little nervous. And Miss Ayrton 
Inclined to laugh at the whole thing now — seeing it in its 
brighter aspect. She was telling me all about you. Miss Chapin.^^ 
Morris Chapin frowned at the name, hut said nothing. ^^You 
are a very brave little woman, indeed.^^ 

Oh, no,^^ said Marjorie. Oh, no. Miss Ayrton was just 
as courageous.^^ 

She does not say so.’^ 

Self-praise is not thought commendable,’^ said Marjorie. I 
believe I heard another knock.” 

The mistress of Armitage and her two sons entered then, the 
lady with heightened color and flashing eyes. Strong persuasion 
had been brought to bear on her, and there was antagonism in 


THE END OF HER MISSION. 


181 


every line of her face, in every line of her figure. Warren moved 
a chair toward her. She declined it haughtily. 

This is my brother Dean, Marjorie,^^ said Warren. Dean, 
my—' 

Miss Chapin,'^ cut in Marjorie quickly. She held out her 
hand, smiling, and Dean took it, rather embarrassed. It was a 
peculiar way in which to meet the girl whom he would certainly 
have married had he not been a Benedict. He acknowledged 
Chapin's greeting with a curt bow. 

Mother, this is Mr. Chapin,^^ said Warren; Marjorie’s 
father." 

I do not care to meet Mr. Chapin, or to know him," said 
Mrs. Armitage, cuttingly — and at the rude words Marjorie drew 
in her mouth; her father flushed hotly, although the sarcastic 
smile never left his lips. He regarded the woman he hated steadily, 
with a gaze that enraged her. The Senator, decidedly uncomfort- 
able — the only stranger in what looked perilously like a family 
quarrel — fidgeted in his chair. 

How long am I to stay here ? " asked Mrs. Armitage now. 

And for what reason — " 

I beg your pardon," said Marjorie — and her low voice took on 
the sweetness it had held the day before, when she was relating 
those stories to wile away the hours of their imprisonment. Just 
a little half-hour, Mrs. Armitage — you will spare me that ? You 
shall not be troubled again. Senator Trumbull," she turned to 
him, ^^you have known Armitage and its occupants many years. 
I would ask you to go back with me to a certain time — when the 
man whom people love to honor was not the settled man he is 
to-day, but young and hot-headed and foolish as are all men in 
the grasp of the great passion, love, which comes to them really 
but once in all their lives. Will you go back. Senator? " 


182 


THE END OF HER MISSION. 


Her voice trailed off — full of sweetness, full of haunting 
memories. He put his hand to his forehead, pushing back the 
hair from it, looking at her with stern gaze, his brows contracted. 

I am there. Miss Chapin.^^ 

That was in Mercedes Estrada^s time — ^that woful time which 
was such a curse to Armitage Hall,’^ said Marjorie. Such a 
bleak and bitter curse. That — was — in — Mercedes — Estrada^s — 
time — Never before, never since, never again, will Armitage be 
so blessed as it was — ^then. Senator Trumbull, you knew my Aunt 
Mercedes. She was a friend of yours. Here is something she 
told me to tell you : ^ AsJc Mm to clear my name." "" 

My God!^^ said Senator Trumbull. His fingers clutched 
together, for Marjorie, regardless of the presence of the others, 
had leaned forward so that her eyes met and held his. What do 
you mean ? I ? What do you mean ? 

Ask him to clear my name ! said Marjorie Armitage. And 
the words were like the call of a bugle. Listen now to what 
drove Mercedes Estrada from Armitage Hall. You went to her 
pleading for her intervention with one whom afterward you 
wedded, with the woman whom you made your wife. Senator, and 
who is now in heaven, I hope. You know what words you said; she 
put her arm about your shoulder ; she spoke to you tenderly, com- 
fortingly; promising to be your friend. You held her hands in 
gratitude; you brought them to your lips. And she, finding the 
girl you loved, said words to her that made reconciliation easy. 
You follow me. Senator Trumbull?’^ 

His eyes were moist. 

^^The dance went on,^^ said Marjorie. ^^All was happiness. 
You, too, were happy before the night ended. The fiowers faded, 
and the lights went out; one by one, the merry-makers left the 
Hall — one by one, until all were gone. And then came Mercedes 


THE END OF HER MISSION. 


183 


Estrada’s hour of doom. For two people had seen that inter- 
view ; had misinterpreted the words they could not hear, the tender 
parting; the eyes of maddened jealousy and hatred were on you 
both. Jealousy and hatred faced the happy Mercedes Estrada 
when she said good-by to the last of her husband’s guests. 

Ah, that was a scene. I have read it and reread it until it 
rises before me with the vividness of reality. There they stood, 
those three — jealousy and hate and the passionate, hot heart of an 
innocent woman. You were accused of being my Aunt Mercedes’ 
lover. Senator Trumbull. The note you wrote her asking her to 
meet you that you might petition her help, was brought up as con- 
demning evidence. Hate accused her, and jealousy would not 
believe in her innocence. Her husband, in his blind fury, stood 
above her — and then, his anger overwhelming him, struck her to 
the ground. Struck her, and, turning on his heel, left her there 
that the woman who was her enemy might laugh. Tell me, is it 
not a pleasant tale ? ” 

A pleasant tale ! ” Senator Trumbull rose to his feet with 
white face set in lines of deepest sternness. ^^A pleasant tale! 
And I hear it after all these years 1 Ho wonder I was never told 
the reason why Mercedes Estrada left her husband. As there is a 
God in heaven, she was the truest, purest, whitest — I will not 
believe it 1 ” he exclaimed. It is not true. It can’t be true.” 

Yet it*is true,” said Marjorie, steadily. When her husband 
came to his senses, he, too, questioned its truth; he, too, was 
willing to admit extenuating circumstances; and he sought her 
for the purpose of listening to her story. She was not there to 
give it — she had fled. He found her, pleaded with her to deny it 
— ^to come back. She would not. He asked her forgiveness, telling 
her that even if it were true he would forget. She would not — 

I shall not excuse my Aunt Mercedes. She lived in her own 


184 


THE END HER MISSION, 


world — saw but her own way; thought her own thoughts, and 
would not permit another to do her thinking. She was self-willed. 
She was unforgiving. Mrs. Armitage/^ Marjorie brought her eyes 
to the face of her husband^s mother, you knew Mercedes Estrada 
— knew her well. You have done her much harm by repeating 
that miserable story. Are you willing to believe Senator Trum- 
bulhs assertion of her innocence 

There was meaning in her glance as well as question. The 
woman’s white lips formed one syllable. 

Yes.” 

You are willing to tell this as I have told it to those people 
who have already heard this story from you — ^this story which — 
you, hearing, misunderstood in the past?'’ 

She writhed under that cool voice. 

Yes,” she said once more. Her eyes fell on Morris Chapin. 
He was smiling — satisfied, and she caught her breath. If looks 
could kill, the portly gentleman would not have left Armitage alive. 

You are positive that the people who accused Mercedes 
Estrada were prompted by motives of self-interest ; that they lied, 
and that they were glad when the affair took such tragic shape? ” 
The woman could scarcely answer this because of her wrath- — 
because of the fury of her small nature. Marjorie opened her lips 
once more, and Warren’s mother started, afraid of what next was 
coming. 

^^Yes.” 

Then there is no more to be said. Will you let it rest now. 
Senator Trumbull? After all, it is a family matter. I disliked 
bringing you into it, but I knew I must prove it to Mrs. Armitage 
— and that only your words could do it satisfactorily.” 

I am not satisfied,” said the Senator. I demand to know 
who told the story — ” 


THE END OF HER MISSION. 


185 


Is it not better to let the dead rest ? asked Marjorie^ slowly. 

Be content that yon have willingly done yonr part — 

Willingly ! exclaimed Senator Trnmbnll. Willingly ! 
And to think that an act of friendship should have wrecked the 
life of such a woman — an act of friendship ! And that I, the one 
most concerned outside herself and her husband — ^that I should 
hear it to-day — ^too late to do an iota of good — ^too late to render 
her even the homage of a tardy appeal for forgiveness — it is 
horrible ! he exclaimed. 

Ko/^ said Marjorie. Aunt Mercedes was wrong, and she 
herself acknowledged it — she did, indeed. She saw how wrong 
before she died. Her training had something to do with her 
peculiar way of regarding things, perhaps. If her husband had 
lived, she might in time have become reconciled to him. We can 
do nothing. Only that those people who believed her a wicked 
woman had to be convinced that she was indeed more sinned 
against than sinning — as you asserted once,^^ she said, turning 
with a winning smile to her husband. That is all.^^ 

And in the name of all the Armitages, I thank you, Senator,^^ 
said Warren, holding out his hand. ^^You have made me very 
happy to-day. And I have to announce that the Armitage dia- 
monds, which Mercedes Estrada was accused of taking with her 
in her flight, have been found and are now in my possession. They 
belong to my wife, of course, and I am holding them in trust for 
her.^^ 

You are satisfied now, Miss Chapin asked Mrs. Armitage, 
and the expression on her face was a study. 

I am satisfied now,’^ answered Marjorie. 

Then I will take my departure, thanking you for giving me 
the pleasure of listening to this edifying story.^^ 

The pleasure was mine,^^ said Marjorie. 


186 


THE END OF HER MISSION. 


And the profit yours, mother, I hope,^’ added Warren, sig- 
nificantly. 

I think Ifil go out and walk off the effect of it,’’ said Senator 
Trumbull, in a despondent voice. I have not been so shocked in 
a long, long time.” 

You might take Mr. Chapin out, and show him a little of 
Armitage, Dean,” said Warren, courteously. Just for an hour or 
so. Miss — er — Chapin,” he frowned, leaves here this evening.” 

Leaves — ^this evening — ” Mrs. Armitage, at the door, turned 
with an exclamation. Leaves this evening ? ” 

Yes,” said Marjorie. Yever to return — I hope.” 

The older woman advanced slowly toward her. 

I don’t know what you mean,” she said. 

It is not necessary that you should,” said Marjorie, proudly. 

I leave this evening — I have had enough of Armitage,” 

But that is scarcely fair,” said the Senator. I should not 
like to think that Mercedes Estrada’s niece should slip out of my 
life so.” 

That is not necessary,” said Marjorie, and held out her hand. 

It is not good-by to you. Senator — only au revoir.” 

Outside the door, the Senator turned to Mrs. Armitage. 

Madam,” he said, I understand the courtesy of that young 
lady wishing to spare her hostess. But do not think I am blind — 
I have listened too long to the stories you were so eager to repeat 
of Mercedes Estrada, and carried them in my brain. Madam, I 
am old, but I wish you were a man, so that I could speak plainly 
to you. I have done many things that were not right in my long 
life, but I should not like to have to render such an account as 
yours must be to the Almighty. That is all, madam — and pardon 
my bluntness to a lady — but I would like you to know my senti- 
ments before I left Armitage.” 


THE END OF HER MISSION, 


187 


Warren had brought about that which he desired — ^he would see 
his wife alone. She sat looking at him with that curious little 
smile on her lips^ and he sank to his knees on the floor beside her^ 
putting his trembling arms about her slender form. 

Marjorie/^ he said, you are a good girl.^^ 

Thank you/^ she answered demurely. 

I want you to tell me honestly now — look straight at me. 
Do you think you can grow to care for me ? 

She laughed under her breath. 

I think I can — and I think I ought to try/^ she said. Dis- 
agreeable things should be done first, because they are the hardest. 
So I shall try/^ 

Don’t speak so — as if you did not mean it, Marjorie.” 

She put her hand on his shoulder. 

Let me keep my resolution,” she said gravely. Get me away 
from Armitage as soon as ever you can — let us leave Armitage. 
Oh, Warren— if you are willing to learn — if you will only learn 
what comfort there is in the faith you so idly say is yours — in 
the religion that I love ! You have no idea what happiness there 
is in store ! And how happy I shall be — ” 

Little missionary ! ” he exclaimed, half-vexed. You are 
not thinking of me at all. You are only thinking of my soul.” 

^^Yot altogether,” she answered, and the laughing Marjorie, 
of which he had got a glimpse heretofore, looked at him out of her 
eyes. Let that man’s daughter prove — not that she is a mission- 
ary — ^not that she is trying to do her duty. But let her prove a fact 
that she herself has learned this last few weeks — ” 

Which is?” 

That she loves her husband.” 

4! * * He 

Now, what happened to them? This to satisfy that reader 


188 


THE END OF HER MISSION. 


who craves the settling in life of every character in a story. For 
surely Mar j oriels mission was accomplished, and Mar j oriels lines 
thereafter were to lie in pleasanter places. 

She kept her word, leaving Armitage that night, going with 
Dean and Warren to meet Dean’s wife, Marion. Morris Ghapin 
remained for the time being at the village hotel. He made one 
more appeal to Marjorie, hut she would not listen to him, and, 
thoroughly disgusted and enraged, he let her go with hot words 
on his lips. Mrs. Armitage made a somber hostess that evening, 
for Senator Trumbull had been called away suddenly,” leaving 
his niece to follow in the morning. It was two years after that 
before Sybil Ayrton, then Sybil Yanrevel, discovered that the 
charming Miss Chapin was her one-time lover’s wife. And, 
singularly enough, they became very good friends all around. 

Dean became one of San Francisco’s best-known business men. 
Warren’s reputation was already established with the eastern 
branch of the same house, and Marjorie was better pleased with 
her own home, much as California had delighted her. One beauti- 
ful thing her husband did — by her wish, and to her intense delight 
— sold the Armitage diamonds and built a home for orphan chil- 
dren in honor of St. Anthony. 

Morris Chapin had developed into a soured individual — not so 
complacent as of old and very cranky — growing more so as the 
years passed him by. The failure of his schemes in connection 
with Armitage seemed to take all taste for business life out of 
him. He still held the secret which he said would make the 
Armitages a power in the land, by reason of great wealth. And he 
visited Marjorie also — some days sullen and morose; and others in 
lighter mood, building air-castles for the future when his daugh- 
ter” became sensible. Marjorie listened, smiling, always. She 
long ago lost the bitterness which she had felt at first — ^lost it in 


THE END OF HER MISSION. 


189 


the happiness of her married life ; her husband, too, was happy in 
daily consciousness of a great gratitude toward that God who had 
brought into his heart a woman above rubies/^ 

Perhaps, in the end, Mrs. Armitage may see and repent the 
error of her wa3^s. When people grow old they are apt to be sorry 
for the sins of younger years. Marjorie held no grudge — and 
every night, before her little boy went to bed, she taught his 
baby-lips to pray for grandmother,^^ knowing that God hears the 
petitions of those innocent hearts, whose angels stand, ever listen- 
ing, at their side, to carry their utterances to the great white 
throne. She prayed for all whom she knew, this gentle Marjorie. 
Just as gentle as of old, just as meek, just as frail — but with 
strength beneath the gentleness and power masked by meekness. 
A loving Marjorie, whom no one knew but to love in return, her 
husband most of all. 

xVnd perhaps it was Mar j oriels sweetness of temper, her indif- 
ference to material advancement that helped to show her father 
that, no matter what worldly advantages he promised her, he could 
awake in her no desire for greater wealth or greater position. Per- 
haps it was the life he saw her lead— the life of a true Catholic, 
modest, retiring, dependent on God, not on man. 

Perhaps, too, it was with a half-formed wish in his own mind 
to stand better with her and with her husband that made him send 
for Warren Armitage one evening in late December and tell him, 
as a Christmas gift, the secret of Armitage. 

Somewhat dazed, Marjorie’s husband left him after that inter- 
view — dazed, and bewildered as well, that such a thing should have 
been in existence so long and yet remain so carefully hidden. 

He had learned that the firm of Eastern capitalists who had 
tried to buy, some two years before, the grounds on which the 
Black Tower stood, had been acting for Morris Chapin. 


190 


THE END OF HER MISSION. 


He had learned the real reason why the avaricious man whose 
god was money had so longed to see his daughter mistress of 
Armitage. 

For there was a rich vein of gold there. Morris Chapin^ wan- 
dering, penniless, and barefoot in boyhood days in the Armitage 
woods, had discovered the secret that the place held. With the 
cunning that was his naturally he had kept the secret well. And 
Warren Armitage knew that it was true, and that worry regarding 
the future was at an end for both him and Marjorie, so far as 
money was concerned. 

One other thing he knew — a thing that made him glad of soul : 
No added wealth could make the happy, child-like, joyful heart 
of that man^s daughter beat one pulse more rapidly. 


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